Never Let You Go
by seastarr08
Summary: Eric and Sookie are newlyweds, looking for a fresh start, but will they be able to conquer the 'ghosts' of their not so distant pasts? AH/AU
1. Chapter 1

**So, after giving it some thought, I decided to go for something that I don't think has been done in the Sookieverse before. This is an AH fic, well, the main characters are AH. Most of them. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and if you have questions as we go, feel free to shoot!**

**Thanks to Missus T for betaing and Ethehunter for giving fab feedback! **

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**Sookie**

I squealed as Eric threw me over his broad shoulder and carried me up the stairs. "Put me down."

He patted my ass. "New house, Lover. It's my duty to carry you over the threshold."

"Not like a caveman." I tried to reach for his ass, but ended up falling short, smacking his lower back instead. "What are we going to have for dinner tonight?"

"I'll have a waitress bring up a menu." He fumbled in his jeans for the key, and we made our way inside. "I hope you're okay with an air mattress until our bed arrives."

Our bed. I liked the sound of that.

**Six months earlier...**

"Go to your computer and check your email, Lover."

I cradled the phone against my ear, and opened up my email. "What is it?"

"Just look."

Even hearing his voice on the phone made my toes curl. I opened my email to find a link to a real estate listing in Maine. Bar Harbor to be exact. "What's this?"

"A fresh start. Look at the pictures."

I clicked through, and one by one, the smile on my face grew a little larger. "A restaurant?" It was totally his style, dark, rich colours, beautiful hardwood bar, and great natural light. "I don't know anything about running a restaurant."

"Already fully operational and turning a profit annually. Keep going."

I kept clicking. It had a three bedroom house on top. The building had to be about a hundred years old, and the two stories above the restaurant were beautiful. Three bedrooms, high ceilings, crown mouldings, and an amazing kitchen with new stainless appliances. "It's stunning, Eric. I don't know though, it's a lot of money."

"I have enough for the down payment, and once I sell my house in New Orleans, I can pay off a large chunk of the mortgage. There's a open storefront next door too that I could work out of. You'd have the money from your house as well. Check the next email."

I opened it to find an email confirmation for a trip to Nassau in two weeks. "What's this?"

"See that ring on your finger? I thought I'd get you another." He sounded like a kid at Christmas.

"We've only been engaged for a month." Things had moved quite quickly with us, but I wasn't really scared. Not with him. "We don't have to do things so quickly." He was the one that should have been scared. Once bitten, twice shy, as the saying went.

"I don't want to miss this house, and I don't need to wait."

"I, well, I just don't want you to feel like I'm pressuring you." I fiddled with my ring. It was really stunning. Far bigger than I ever thought I'd want, but gorgeous all the same. Perfect. Kind of like Eric.

He laughed. "Sookie, I'm the one that bought the tickets. I want to be with you. No more of this phone bullshit, no more emails. You and me, every day, cooking breakfast in our underwear in that kitchen. There's room behind the restaurant kitchen for my shop as well. I checked and there are three elementary schools within driving distance. You could start teaching again."

I thought about what that would be like, to be back in the one place I'd ever felt comfortable surrounded with people. "Wow, it's just so fast."

"Do you need to slow down?" He asked, his voice considerate. "I'm not trying to rush you. I just got really excited when I found this place."

I took a deep breath. "No. Let's do this."

We sat on the floor cross-legged, devouring the best homemade mac and cheese I'd ever had, both of us making noises that could have been mistaken for sex by anyone that didn't see what we were up to.

"This is amazing," Eric moaned, his eyes closed.

"We're going to have to cook for ourselves, or I'm going to be as big as a house. I was a chubby kid, you know?" I winked, taking another bite. I looked around at the empty room. "We won't know what to do with ourselves, once our furniture gets here."

He gave me a smirk. "I think we'll just do what we've been doing, but with furniture. I got an order for a dining room table today. I also bought a barn."

I cocked my head at him. "You bought a barn?"

He nodded. "To tear down, for the reclaimed wood. It's gorgeous stuff, and I already have some ideas about things I want to make with it. I'm going to start tearing it down this weekend. Want to come?"

I shrugged. The weekends had been nice here, perfect sweater weather. We'd spent a lot of time walking around, bored in the bed and breakfast. "As long as it doesn't snow."

"Scared of a little snow, Lover?" I loved it when he called me that. "I'll warm you up properly afterwards." He waggled his eyebrows. "And tomorrow is your first day of work."

I nodded. I'd gotten a sub job, one day a week for a few months. Kindergarten, which was just my speed for getting back into things. "I'm kind of nervous. I need to pick out an outfit."

"You should wear those black pants that make your ass look fantastic. Or maybe that sweater dress that I like." He smiled, collecting the remains of our dinner. "Do you want some dessert?"

I shook my head. "Maybe later."

"Have you been downstairs? Everyone is very nice."

"No. I just need a bit of time. I might go down during lunch when it's not so busy and introduce myself to Amelia." I'd corresponded with her via email before we'd moved, but I knew I needed to take things slow. Not everyone was going to be Eric, so naturally calm and willing to give me my space, no questions asked.

When I'd randomly started emailing back and forth with Wood-Man01 on the Grief Recovery Online message board, I had no idea that a year and a bit later, t I'd be married and absolutely head over heels in love with him. He'd been nice, sure, and understanding, as a board moderator, but it was three months before we exchanged email addresses, and started getting beyond our original reasons for signing up for a mourning website.

My friend Tara, the one person that I still saw regularly in Bon Temps, was terrified when I decided to go and visit Eric in New Orleans. We had a horrible fight about it, her telling me I had a death wish.

That may have been true at one time, but it certainly wasn't anymore. I'd gone anyway, even though I was terrified of having a panic attack, armed with an email printout with his home address and a picture of him in sunglasses in the French Quarter sometime in the summer.

I'd thought he'd be shorter, and not nearly so attractive. In fact, I had to force myself to not just turn around and run the other way when I recognized him, worried about his response to me. He looked up from a coffee at Cafe Du Monde, meeting my eyes, all of a sudden, it was like someone turned the light on. It was strange at first, realizing that I'd been completely and utterly in love with someone that I'd never met face to face, but after spending two weeks talking, seeing his smile, and the deeply hidden pain between his eyes that mirrored my own, there was no mistaking the feelings I had. It was a sense of peace that I'd never known before, when he and I were together.

Since I wasn't working at the time, I didn't have any reason to hurry back to Bon Temps, and when he invited me to stay for a few extra days at his place, it had quickly turned into a month.

I knew I'd have to go home eventually. We'd had a heartbreaking goodbye, and I'd sobbed the entire drive back to Bon Temps. He'd shown up on my doorstep a week later, with a suitcase and a huge bouquet of wild roses. Two weeks after that, we'd made some decisions, most of which involved doing whatever we had to do to avoid these anguishing goodbyes.

And then Project Fresh Start had been launched. My engagement ring followed a few weeks after that.

I was glad that I didn't have many people in my life to tell me that I was making a horrible mistake. It made it easier to stay positive about everything, because everything felt so painfully right that my heart ached to think about my life working out any other way.

Bit by bit, things started getting better for me. I started doing little things at first, like going to the library and the grocery store, smiling at people I knew. The way they all looked at me though confirmed that PFS, as we'd started calling it, was the right thing to do.

Later that night, we curled up together on the lumpy air mattress, and I grinned as Eric took my cheeks in his hands and kissed me with a passion that was a part of everything he did. "I'll make you breakfast in the morning. It'll have to be just eggs, because we don't have a toaster yet," he whispered. "Maybe an omelette. I'm so proud of you."

My first day of school went off without a hitch. I left the school parking lot, an ear to ear grin on my face. When I pulled into the parking lot behind Salty's, our restaurant, I closed my eyes and took a minute to relax. I didn't even notice the huge black man that was standing next to the car wrapping on my window until he was right up in my face. I screamed, and he backed off slightly. I rolled down the window an inch.

"What do you want?"

He looked at me, his eyes wide. "Damn, Northman said the wife was a bit touchy, but shit girl, you need to take a Valium."

I curiously eyed the flamboyant man that looked better suited to the Meatpacking District than Maine. Little did he know, he was probably right. "I didn't see you there. Who are you?"

"I'm your cook, Lafayette. And you're Shy Sookie."

"I'm not shy." I was wary. Extremely wary. Not shy. "It's nice to meet you."

"Everyone inside is wondering about you. We've all seen your big hunk of man wandering around, barking orders about more smoked salmon on the menu, and picking up dinner for two, but you're a bit of a mystery. Anyway, the reason I came back here was to find your man, but you'll do. You need to sign for your furniture. The truck's been idling out front for a half hour."

I smiled. Eric certainly liked his smoked salmon. "Where's Eric?"

"He said he was going out shopping a couple of hours ago. I thought he might have been back here putting those muscles to work in his shop. Now that's a sight I'd like to see."

Though I didn't disagree with him, I rolled my eyes before getting out of my car and following him through the quiet restaurant. It would be a couple of hours until the dinner rush, so I figured it was safe to walk through. I'd done a good job of using the back door. We'd checked it out after close one night before we'd moved in. "Is anyone else here?"

He shook his head. "Just me and a waitress until 4:30 p.m. You afraid of people or something?"

"Something like that." I smiled. "I don't like crowds."

The girl that was working, a chubby redhead with a huge breasts, nodded as we walked by. I breathed a sigh of relief that she didn't rush up for a hug or anything. She must not have been Amelia, who I figured was overwhelming just from her emails. I was the queen of baby steps. Going back to work was a big deal. It had been two years since I'd stepped foot in a classroom.

I liked kids. Their emotions were simple usually and a result of what was going on around them. They were happy when they were praised, upset when someone took something from them. More often than not, it was obvious what caused their mood. Adults were not so easy to read, and I'd always found myself exhausted trying to figure out their motivations.

When we landed outside, I looked at the giant moving truck. I'd only seen Eric's things in a storage locker a few weeks before we moved. Before that, he'd lived in a tiny minimalist bachelor apartment down the street from the storefront he rented. After his wife, he'd had no interest in living in the rambling townhouse they'd once shared in the Garden District, and he had rented it out to a family. We'd driven by once. It was really lovely.

I'd been awed when we'd gone through the locker. Most of the furniture, which he'd made himself, was stunning, the design reflecting his Scandinavian upbringing with a very Eric spin on it. We'd picked and tagged pieces to bring, and he'd sold the rest of it to a dealer.

I quickly signed for the shipment, and directed them to the back, so they could take everything up. I smiled a minute later, as Eric pulled up in his truck and parked in front of the restaurant. He got out, his arms full of grocery bags. "I didn't think it would be here until after six." He examined my face. "Everything good?"

I nodded. "Yep. I met Lafayette, and they're on their way up with everything."

A smile spread across his face. "And work was good?"

"Yep." I moved beside him, and grabbed a couple of bags. "PFS is going well."

He fumbled for his keys as we went in through the front door. "You look happy."

"I wasn't always a wreck. Just as long as you've known me." I bumped him with my hip.

He grinned at me. "You're far from a wreck Sookie. Just a bit damaged."

I grinned back. "You're allowed to say that, because you are too. I hope you're not telling your staff that."

"Our staff. And no. I just said you were..."

I cut him off. "Shy. I know. Lafayette told me. You don't have to tell them anything. I'm okay."

He gave a little shrug. "Okay. I just, well, things have been going so well. I don't want to mess that up."

I smiled as we walked into the kitchen and set the bags down. "You won't," I stood on my tiptoes, still not at eye level with him. "Because I won't let you."

"And I won't let you either." He leaned down and kissed my nose. "I almost forgot what it was like to have a real bed."

I shook my head at him, smiling to myself as I pulled a giant hunk of fish out of the grocery bag. Eric liked his seafood. I was pretty sure it was a deciding factor in his decision to look for a house in Maine. That and he'd grown up on the Atlantic. "We've only been on the air mattress for four nights. Before that we were at the bed and breakfast."

"But that was a queen. This bed is a king." He looked at me, a twinkle in his eye.

We'd brought my bed, because it was newer. "My bed is a queen too."

I heard the workers stomping up the back stairs, and Eric shuffled me into our bedroom, which looked out over the harbour. "Close your eyes for a minute."

I obliged him, and when he told me to open them, I gasped, as the movers unwrapped a gorgeous headboard, made of wood and quilted leather. Somehow, it was him, but me at the same time. "Oh wow."

A smile came over his face, as I ran my hands along the grooves, and onto the butter soft leather. "Consider it part of PFS."

Since the bed was really the most important thing, because it meant we'd get some sleep, he and I spent most of the evening assembling it, while the movers unloaded everything else. He'd purchased a new mattress as well, and given me carte blanche to order bedding, which I was quite excited about. I curled up with my laptop and spent some time on the Pottery Barn website, picking out things that I hoped reflected both our tastes.

Eric vanished for a bit, and I found him in the bathroom, the door half closed, a bit of steam escaping from the shower he'd presumably just taken.

I moved in behind him as he shaved, using a brush, a straight razor and a bar of soap. It reminded me of my grandfather. My arms went around his waist and my head on his back. "I love my present."

"It's been hard hiding a headboard, Lover. I'm glad you like it." I saw the black tattoo band that the ring I'd given him in the Bahamas now covered up. He took my ring off a lot, when he was working, shaving, doing most things involving his hands, but that black band was always there. The topic of removing it was one I'd thought about bringing up, but talked myself out of. It wasn't up to me to decide how he mourned, or what he kept from the ten years he'd spent with her. Pam. I knew her name, although I opted not to say it much. He didn't mention her at all anymore.

We'd talked about her a lot in the beginning, before we progressed from mourners to friends. I knew she'd been killed, and that he'd initially been a suspect but had been cleared quite quickly. I knew that he'd spent six months on probation for assaulting a police officer that had the gall to suggest that he had the tools that had been the cause of her death. She'd died of blunt force trauma to the head when he'd been packing up after a furniture show with lots of witnesses on hand. I knew they'd had problems before her death. Real, serious problems. I could relate to that. We'd both had the life sucked out of us, under slightly different circumstances, but the results were the same. We were careful with one another, considerate of one another's feelings, and our somewhat complicated pasts. That was why we worked.

I pulled away and grabbed my toothbrush as he finished up, sliding his wedding band back on. "It's going to be so much work, getting everything set up."

He patted his cheeks, before turning to face me, leaning against the sink. "I'm going to work in the morning, but we can pick away at unpacking tomorrow afternoon. I still need to make the side tables to match the headboard."

"I think I'll go introduce myself at lunch time. Take down Gran's cookbook and see if they want to try some of her recipes out."

He grinned. "I'd kill for some of your gumbo. It might be a nice variation on the fish chowder everyone seems so fond of around here."

We crawled into bed a few minutes later, and I moaned as I sunk into the mattress. "Yep, this is amazing."

He rolled over and propped himself up on one elbow. "I figured that we spend a lot of time in bed, and we should have a really great one."

I wrapped an arm around his side, pulling myself a little closer to him. "It was weird, being with all those people at school today, but in a good way. I ate lunch in the staff room, and even talked a bit about us, and moving here."

He ran a hand through my hair. "It takes a lot to push yourself the way you are. I found a Tuesday night AA meeting to go to. I think I'll start next week."

I traced my fingers over the four stars that lined the inside of his arm. One for every year of sobriety. It was hard to imagine Eric any less than in complete control of his life. "Is it going to be hard, being above a bar?"

He shook his head, a silly grin on his face. "Nah. I have to pay for that stuff down there. Honestly, since Pam, I've had really no desire to drink at all. I'm due for a new star."

You weren't allowed to say that your murdered ex drove you to drink, before she was, well murdered. Not to most people, anyway. With me, it was okay. "I think I might let my Zanex prescription run out for a little while, and see how I do." I'd been on some form of anti-anxiety medication for a number of years. I hardly remembered what it felt like to just let myself deal with the feelings of tension that would rise up in my stomach, which were now quickly pushed down by the effects of a pill.

"If you think you're ready for that, then maybe you should." His hand traced along my arm. "Maybe keep a little stash for special occasions."

"Like when Jason calls?" I grinned, mussing up his short blond hair. "Or when you decide to get get neurotic about the grout in the bathroom?" He'd gotten twitchy at my shower in Bon Temps until I'd finally relented and let him repair all the old grout. It was nice having someone handy around, even though he was crazy about home repair. I'd turned a blind eye to a lot of things for years, and it was his improvements that had helped me get top dollar for the house a couple of months earlier.

"Exactly." He winked, before rolling onto his back, and pulling me on top of him. I sat up, straddling his lap as he tossed my tank top to the side.

Sex with Eric, although I had very little to compare it to, was amazing. We'd waited quite a while before our relationship had progressed to that point, but when it did, I'd almost had a bit of an epiphany. Sex was enjoyable, when you shared it with someone who cared if you enjoyed it as well. His hand went to my hair, pulling it out of its ponytail, before he pulled himself up against the wall, so we were face to face. His mouth moved to my neck, and I shivered as he kissed me, pulling our chests together. His thumbs hooked around my underwear, and I lifted my hips as he slid them off.

When we made love, we were just two normal people, unaffected by our various issues and mental ailments. Just he and I, writhing flesh, quiet, together. The ghosts of our past a distant memory.


	2. Chapter 2

**Haha so you like this fic, even though I think most people aren't too sure where I'm going. I think this chapter will clear it up a bit. I won't be posting chapters quite so often, but I thought I owed everyone a bit more of an explanation of the direction of the story. Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts, so let me know what you think!**

**Thanks Missus T and Ethehunter!**

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**Eric**

I'd first realized that something was very wrong when Pam turned over in bed one night and revealed a series of scratches on her back that I either didn't remember leaving, or hadn't left.

That had been almost five years ago, to the day. I'd tossed and turned all night, trying to remember something, anything, from the night before and came up blank. That morning, ignoring Pam's protests, I'd poured out every bottle in the house, and found a meeting.

We'd met at seventeen, both of us Army brats more than ready to strike out on our own and stop being dragged around the world by our cold and distant parents. We'd do better, we told each other and ourselves. We'd married, at twenty-three, in a lavish wedding thrown by her parents, who were mortified that we'd gotten tattoo bands on our fingers instead of the traditional ones. By that time I was apprenticing under Al, my mentor, and knew that any jewelery I wore would be either damaged quite quickly or was potentially dangerous if it got caught in something. I regretted it now, sure, mostly because of the way Sookie looked when I pulled the band she'd given me off, and there it was. I'd probably get it removed eventually. I'd had it blacked out after Pam's death, the pattern covered up, unable to think of it so closely matching hers.

When I sobered up, I wasn't a fun person to be around, not like I had been. Not to Pam, anyway. I'd never felt better though, in fact, I'd forgotten what it felt like to be clear and healthy, and not living in a numb haze. An active participant in my life. At first, Pam was interested, supportive even, but when I'd decided that I didn't want to be around most of our friends anymore, most of whom were under the influence of something, she'd turned against me in a way, going to parties without me, staying out until the wee hours of the morning without calling.

Three weeks after I'd stopped drinking, the scratches had reappeared, and I realized that I'd not been to blame the first time. I'd relapsed that night, and we'd had a horrible, screaming fight. She'd told me that she didn't love me anymore, and I'd fucked her until she took it back.

First mistake.

Things calmed down a bit after that. I started going to meetings a few times a week, and she cut back, sticking with a glass of wine in the evening, usually when I was out working. I loved her, and I wanted to work through whatever issues we had. We'd been great once.

The longer time went on though, it became apparent that we weren't going to great again. She started lying about where she was, and it wasn't that I didn't care, but that I knew by forcing the issue that I would lose her entirely. Looking back on things, it was inevitable that we wouldn't last, but after tying your life to someone for so long, it was hard thing to admit.

When they'd found her, dead in some lawyer's backyard with coke in her system, her face so damaged that I'd opted for closed casket funeral, I'd had to take a step back. Dealing with her death and then and having to relive what had happened to her, while being accused of smashing the side of her head in had left me standing in a liqueur store with a bottle of scotch in hand more than once.

Two weeks after I'd been cleared of everything, since there was surveillance camera video of me packing up a furniture display at the time of her death, I packed up and left the house we'd shared, unable to sleep or function being surrounded by her things and her smell.

Things were different with Sookie. She let me take care of her, allowed me access to her darkness, the parts of her that scared her, and in turn, I gave her access to mine. I preferred that vastly over the alternative, which was the secrets and deception. In a way, I worried that we were too reliant on one another, that there was too much mutual leaning going on, but it was nice to have someone that understood when you had a bad day and wanted to talk about it, and when you needed to be left alone. She never asked what was wrong, just if I was okay, and I appreciated that.

We'd been in Maine for six months now, carving out a life for ourselves in a sleepy town that seemed designed for healing. Sookie had gotten on full-time as an elementary school teacher in January, my carpentry business had continued to improve, and I'd begun shipping pieces near and far. I liked working with wood. For the most part it was predictable; it did what you wanted it to, and you could envision a future product by looking at the grain and the size.

The changes in Sookie since we'd met were evident, although I had the feeling that it wasn't so much that she'd actually changed, more that she'd returned to herself. She smiled with her whole face, went out with Amelia, who she'd become quite close to, and snapped at me if I babied her.

Lunch at Salty's was extremely busy, usually resulting in a line up out the door. We didn't take lunch reservations so it was first come, first serve. From time to time I helped out, mostly clearing tables and seating people. It was the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend and the restaurant was the busiest I'd seen it so far. I hesitated, but then went upstairs and stood in the doorway to our room, where Sookie was curled up with a book.

"I hate to ask..."

She put the book down, a knowing smile on her face. "You need my help with the lunch rush? I saw them lined up down the street."

I nodded. "Just for an hour or so. They're serving the crab gumbo you like."

I'd stepped out into the shop to grab a box of toilet paper for the washroom, so I hadn't seen them walk in, not that I would have recognized them anyway, but it was evident that Sookie did. I saw the colour drain from her face, as she tripped over her feet trying to make her way back to the kitchen and laid herself right out in front of them.

I set down the tray of dirty dishes I was carrying, and moved to help her up. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, never taking her eyes of off him. "I have to go."

My eyes met his. "Who are you?"

He gave me an artificial grin, and extended his hand. He was how I imagined him, short, slightly weasely. Weak. "Bill, Bill Compton. And my wife, Portia."

What the fuck were the odds of that? In all the restaurants in Maine, they had to walk into ours, during the second lunch Sookie had ever worked. I didn't take his hand, instead opting to hold onto Sookie. "What did you say to my wife?"

"Simply, hello. I'd heard you'd married, Sookie. Congratulations." He smiled at her in a somewhat demeaning way, and I felt her tremble briefly, in my arms. "We heard the clam chowder here is amazing. I had no idea you'd even moved here."

She nodded curtly, her eyes wild, before pulling herself out of my grip. "I'm needed in the kitchen."

I let her go and stood there in front of them. "There's an hour wait. I think you should go elsewhere."

"Are you refusing us service?" His wife put her hands on her hips.

"No. I'm simply saying that you're going to be waiting a long time." I shrugged. "Take that as you will. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to check on the chowder. We run out sometimes."

A few minutes later, I found Sookie curled up on the couch upstairs, her arms wrapped around her knees, silent, breathing heavily. I knelt down beside her, putting my hands on her feet. "Hey. No problem. He's gone."

She nodded, and I could tell she was trying to get her breathing under control. "I need a Valium. I'm having a panic attack. They're in the..."

"Bathroom in my shop. I'll be right back." I kissed her forehead, which was damp and clammy, and ran downstairs, grabbing the small unopened bottle. When she'd opted to go off Xanax the doctor had prescribed Valium as an alternative, in case she ran into problems, because he figured she'd react to them quicker, since she hadn't built up a tolerance for them like she had after years on Xanax.

I quickly made my way back upstairs, fetched a glass of water, and gave it to her. It was terrifying seeing her like this, so out of control. There was nothing I could have done to prevent it though, I knew that. I couldn't control him walking in like that. I sat beside her, my hand on her shoulder. "Do you need to go to the hospital?"

She shook her head. "They'd just give me a Valium and send me on my way." She tipped back the water. "God, that hasn't happened in forever."

"Are you okay?"

She put her hands over her mouth, still trying to get control of her breathing. "I will be, in an hour or so."

I sat beside her, rubbing her back, doing my best to try and be supportive even though I felt the urge to go unload my fists into Bill Compton's face. She fell asleep for most of the afternoon, and I went downstairs to pick up some gumbo around five.

Amelia grabbed my arm in the kitchen, her face concerned. "Is Sookie okay?"

I nodded. "I'm just going to get us some dinner. Was lunch busy? You can call in an extra person if it's busy."

Amelia shook her head. "He was a dick. Didn't even leave a tip."

"I wonder where they're staying." I said, more just as a thought than a question.

Amelia perked up. "Rose Eden Cottages. He asked for directions. What are you going to do?"

"Nothing." That wasn't exactly true, I just hadn't decided yet. "Can you get us together two bowls of gumbo with some biscuits?"

She nodded, and I leaned on the sink, trying to come up with a plan.

I woke Sookie up to eat dinner, and she did, quite silently. I had to know. "What did he say to you?"

She looked down. "He said hi, and then he asked what kind of meds I was on, to look so together."

Fucking dick. "Please don't let him set you back. Sook, you've come so far."

She looked up, a half smile on her face. "You know, it was never so much what he said, but what he felt about me. That's what did me in, last time."

"What do you mean?"

"He thought I was worthless, stupid, for having anxiety. I embarrassed him, embarrassed his family, when I'd have an attack at church or out for dinner. It took me a long time to realize that he was the one that felt like that about me, that I was projecting his feelings about me onto myself. It was just like being hit with a wave of all that again, seeing him."

I took her face in my hands. "I'm going to go get us some ice cream. Rocky Road okay?"

She nodded. "Thanks, for giving me a minute."

That wasn't my intention, but I nodded anyway. "I'll be back soon. Anything else you want?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm okay. Really I am."

Rose Eden Cottages were just out of town. I recognized the Louisiana plates on his obnoxious SUV immediately. Cottage 3B. I took at deep breath and walked up to the door, knocking at the door. Mrs. Compton, whose name I had already forgotten, answered, unimpressed to see me. "You're Sookie's husband."

I smiled. "And where's yours?"

A dishevelled Bill came to the door a minute later, in a pair of obnoxious tourist shorts and a polo, different from what he'd been wearing for lunch. His eyes turned hard when he saw who was at the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Take a walk with me, Bill." I glanced up at his wife. "Give us ten minutes, sweetheart."

He obliged me, which could have been a very stupid move. I could have been a psycho. Without a word, we walked down behind his cottage, and I sat down on a rock. "I don't know what you're doing here, but I suggest you leave tomorrow. You've upset my wife."

"Look, I don't know how well you know her, but that doesn't take much." He shook his head. "Something's not quite right about her. I hope you figure that out sooner than I did. I wasted a lot of time with that one."

I looked him in the eye. He was scared. "I think you came here to see her, to see if she was better. She is, no thanks to you. I don't appreciate you intruding in our lives. We've got it under control. You will leave tomorrow morning."

Bill rolled his eyes, a weak disguise for the fear behind them. "Look, last time I saw her, she was in a psych ward in Shreveport having her stomach pumped. I have no interest in seeing her. My wife now, she's a lawyer, and she certainly doesn't curl up in a ball when someone gives her condolences on a loved one's death. You know what? I wish you both all the best. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to my vacation. Maybe you should be getting back to you wife. A lot can happen in ten minutes with her, believe me." He stood up.

I couldn't help it. I sucker punched him. "Tomorrow morning. I'm going to drive by around 9 a.m., and I want your car gone. You're not welcome here."

"It's a free country." He spat, wiping the blood from his mouth. "I should charge you."

"Do it, and I'll see that Sookie takes out a restraining order against you. I think there's enough paperwork back in Louisiana to make that happen. You did break into her house, did you not?"

His eyes went wide. "I hadn't heard from her in a few months. I was concerned."

"You left her in the hospital. I would assume that ended your relationship. Anyway, tomorrow morning, you're gone." I walked back to my truck, slamming the door behind me.

When I got home, I found Amelia eying Sookie curiously. "It's damaged. I don't know how to fix it. You're indigo, except around your head, which is grey. Grey's not good. Octavia says that's like a chink in your armour." She stopped talking when I walked in.

Sookie gave her a quick glance. "Amelia, I'll call you later."

She glanced at me and stood up. "Okay, well, call me if you need me. Night, Eric."

I locked the door behind her and set the ice cream down on the counter. "What was that about?"

Sookie shook her head. "Oh, she was just going on about auras and crazy things like that. You know her."

I shrugged. Amelia had gotten into a few of her beliefs with me. I wasn't a non believer, but certainly not to the extent that she was. My belief system had been shaken severely in the last few years, and before that, it had been non-existent. "Big bowl, or small?"

She smiled, her brow furrowed. "It's a big bowl kind of night, I think."

We put in a movie, some terrible comedy about someone getting knocked up on a first date. We both politely chuckled along, her head tucked neatly under my arm. Almost like nothing had happened.

I watched the eleven o'clock news, long after Sookie had fallen asleep with her head in my lap. It was always the same. Death, murder, all sensationalized. It wasn't so easy to imagine it as glamourous when it had happened to you, as both Sookie and I could attest to.

Probably because of the correlation with my Bill run-in, I dreamt of Pam that night, of her coming back to check on me and what she'd think of what she'd found. We stood beside the bed, watching Sookie sleep.

"Eric, she's awfully meek." She gave me a wicked grin that was all too familiar.

I shook my head at her. "She's perfect for me."

She raised an eyebrow. "Damaged?"

"We both are."

"And these linens, and this house, her in a little nightgown. You're kidding yourself, you know? Thinking you can replace me, with the opposite of what we were."

I looked at her with disdain, in her torn jeans and my old plaid shirt, her arms crossed over her chest. "Pam, I'd never want to replace you. What good would that do? We were fucked. Beyond fucked."

She sighed. "You changed, so quickly. I didn't know you anymore."

I nodded at Sookie. "But she does."

"She doesn't know anything," She spat. "Least of all what you are." I had a flash of her tied up on our old bed, both of us stoned and drunk, practically fucking each other stupid.

"I'm not him anymore."

"You'll always be him."

I awoke the next morning to find myself facing Sookie, who was pressed against me, a troubled look on her sleeping face. I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her even closer, kissing her forehead.

She stirred slightly, before opening her beautiful blue eyes. "Hey."

"Hi, Lover." I kissed her again, this time tilting her chin up to my face, so happy to see her, to wipe the memory of Pam out of my mind from the night before. "How did you sleep?"

She smiled, rolling onto her back. "Not bad. That Valium, and, well, earlier knocked me right out."

"Want to go for brunch? Somewhere other than here?" Deep down, I was worried that yesterday would be a serious setback for her, one that she didn't deserve, not when she'd been doing so well. I didn't want her to withdraw back into herself.

"You know what I want?" She pulled herself up against the headboard, a twinkle in her eye. "McDonald's breakfast. Bacon and egg McMuffin with an extra hashbrown. And let's go eat it at the barn."

"There's not much left of the barn." That wood had been made into tables, chairs, benches, picture frames, countless things. "But we can go out there. Pick through the remains." That route would take me right past Bill's hotel too, so I could be sure he'd left. "Let's shower, and then we can go. I smell like chowder from lunch yesterday."

She shimmied out of bed, turning around to look at me over her shoulder as she made her way into the master bath, and winked at me. "We should probably shower together. Save water and all that."

One look at her, clad in a skimpy tank and boyshorts that hugged the curves of her ass beautifully, and I was out of bed in a flash. I pulled off her top, and she pushed my shorts down and turned on the water, climbing in before me.

It wasn't until then that I noticed the scratches on her back.


	3. Chapter 3

**And the plot thickens! I'm really glad that those of you that are reading are so excited about this fic, because it's absolutely not what I typically write in a lot of ways. I've written quite a lot on here, and really you can only do the same thing so many times. I always feel like I'll run out of things to write, and then something pops into my head though! Thanks so much for your notes and guesses. Let me know where you think I'm going! **

**For those of you reading my stuff on my blog, I promise I'm getting back to it very soon, and seriously, thanks so much for taking the time to head over there and check it out. **

**Thanks to Missus T, Ethehunter, and TVgirlsvm, who caught a major oops in this chapter!**

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**Sookie**

I turned around to see Eric eying me oddly. "Are you coming?"

The look on his face was somewhat uneasy. "Turn back around."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Well, at least get in the shower first."

He shook his head. "What happened to your back? It's all scratched up."

I turned my head, trying to get a look. "I have no idea." I thought about it. "Maybe when I wiped out during lunch and made a total ass of myself yesterday?"

He shook his head, moving me so I could see my back in the bathroom mirror and tracing the lines on my back. "It doesn't look like that kind of scratch."

He was right. It looked like I'd been attacked by a cat. A big one, that wasn't very gentle. Two huge sets of five lines on either side. "I have no idea."

He smiled somewhat tensely, and hopped in beside me. "I didn't do it."

"I think I'd remember if you had." I tried to look at them again. "They seem to be already beginning to heal."

Eric grabbed the sponge, gently running it over my back. "Maybe you did it when you fell?"

"Maybe. Maybe I got scratched at work. Those kids are wild." I turned around and stood on my tiptoes, smiling when he leaned down for a kiss. There was some apprehension in him though, which shone through no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

I was okay. I wasn't the same as I'd been a couple of years ago, falling apart when the opportunity presented itself. After a long shower that didn't save any water, we climbed into his truck and headed out.

McDonald's breakfast was as good as I imagined it, and I was surprised when we looked out over the land where the old barn had once stood. Only one wall remained. "Did you take this down by yourself?"

He nodded. "The supports were pretty much long gone. It was good for taking out some frustration."

We ate silently in the truck. After about ten minutes, I broke the silence. "I'm okay, Eric."

He looked straight ahead. "I know. You didn't deserve that though. What happened yesterday. Any of it."

"We rarely get what we deserve. I learned that in therapy." I chomped on my hashbrown. "Bill's married to his daddy's lawyer. It's fitting, but probably not deserved." Maybe Portia had done something awful in another life, or this one. Maybe it was deserved on her end, or maybe they were just perfect for each other.

"I don't think he'll be back."

I forgot they'd had a brief exchange after I'd run off. "What did you say to him?"

He was quiet for a minute. "That he wasn't welcome here."

"I don't know why he'd come in the first place and pretend it was a coincidence. Because it wasn't."

He wasn't surprised to see me. Neither of them were. I wasn't sure why I'd panicked, except for the unknown factor. I had no idea why he would come in the first place. We didn't exactly wrap things up on good terms, me hiding in an upstairs closet calling 911 while he broke in, looking for God knows what. Me, he'd told the police. Because of my overdose a few months before, they'd decided he had my best interests in mind.

Which was bullshit.

Leaving someone in the hospital when they'd just OD'd and telling the nurse to tell them that they weren't coming back could hardly be considered acting in someone's best interests.

"Me neither," Eric said, deadpan. "I don't like that guy."

I threw the rest of my garbage in the McDonalds bag. "You got a hammer?"

He nodded. "In the back."

I hopped out of the truck, pulled the tailgate down, and climbed into the back, grabbing the key to his toolbox from his hands. "You want one?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

I handed him the sledge hammer, which weighed more than it looked like, and kept the claw hammer for myself, and I hopped down, and started towards the old barn.

I had at the last remaining wall, putting every bit of anger I had into beating it down to nothing, pulling the boards with the claw while Eric collected the wood he deemed worthy of turning into something new. He was good at using almost everything, finding potential in things that others found useless. I'm sure the farmer thought he was getting the deal of the century when Eric had offered him five hundred bucks for the old barn that was way past its point of usefulness. I'd watched him create piece after piece from the wood he brought back, each more unique than the last. Even the boards that weren't aesthetically pleasing became the framing of the leather chairs he'd been creating lately.

He was the ultimate recycler. I could attest to that.

We left in the late afternoon, exhausted and hungry for some sort of combination of dinner and lunch.

"Thanks for the help." He winked, piling the last of the wood on the back of his truck. "What do you want me to make you?"

I sat on the tailgate swinging my legs, and tapped my chin. "Deck chairs?"

"For our non-existent deck?" He smirked at me. "Is this a hint?"

"It would be nice to sit out the back in the evenings this summer." I smiled, hopping off the tailgate. "We could build it onto the fire escape." I'd mentally mapped it out while surviving the cold, cold snowy winter. More than once I'd told Eric that if the cold winter and snow hadn't sent me into some sort of depression that I was probably cured. He'd done his part to keep me warm though, as promised as a condition of our move.

I liked living here. More than I'd ever thought I would. I also liked living with Eric more than I thought I would, which said a lot, because I was pretty sure I was going to love it. I wouldn't have married him otherwise, of course. In our time here, I'd learned a lot about him, all of which had solidified my beliefs that he was one in a million. It's not the struggles you face, it's how you persevere, and Eric was a survivor if there ever was one.

He nodded, thinking it over. "Let me think about the logistics of that."

Dinner was stir-fry made from chicken that we bought from a local farm and organic vegetables that we'd sourced for the restaurant. We made it together, chatting over the weekend, but avoiding the flailing panic stricken elephant in the room. We'd already discussed it.

I was cutting the carrots, eating more than I was throwing in the bowl, when the knife slipped and sliced my palm. "Shit," I hissed, as blood ran all over dinner. "I'm so clumsy."

Eric grabbed a towel, holding it around my hand, before pulling it back and examining the cut. "You're going to need stitches."

"I don't know how that happened. I wasn't even holding the knife towards my palm." I winced, holding back the tears. "It hurts."

He nodded; his hand on mine. "It's really deep."

After getting six stitches, and Eric having a minor freak out when I had to consult with a psych nurse, since I'd had my medical records transferred and they wanted to assure I wasn't a danger to myself before they sent me home, we were on our way back to the house when I realized that we still hadn't had dinner. "Pizza?"

He nodded, his face looking exhausted. "I was thinking the same thing."

One large Hawaiian pizza later, we were home, and I'd changed into my pyjamas. "I'm taking tomorrow off."

He nodded. "Probably a good idea. I can't believe they had to ask you those questions."

I shrugged. "That's what you get when you end up in the ER with a stomach full of sleeping pills."

He was quiet for a minute. "Was he the reason you did that?"

This was probably the one thing that we'd never really talked about. When people find out you tried to take your own life, it's a natural conversation killer. The biggest possible elephant in the room. "No. It was all me. I just felt so hopeless, and useless, after Gran's murder. I'd missed her killer by ten minutes. If I hadn't stopped for that stupid coffee I could have stopped it, spared her that suffering. Bill maybe aggravated my mental state, but he was not the cause. In fact, him leaving me after was probably for the best, because it forced me to sort my own shit out."

The cause, when I thought back on it was incredibly simple. It was all just too much. I just wanted everything to stop. At that moment, it had seemed like the only solution. The only way to gain control over the chaos in my head.

His brow furrowed. "He wasn't nice to you."

I shrugged. "He was indifferent. I think he had a hard time understanding why it affected me so much since she was old. She was basically my mom. I mean, she'd raised me since I was seven and to go in such a horrible way, for her silverware? It really destroyed the whole community for a bit. The kid that was eventually convicted used to be our paperboy."

Eric knew the story. I'd at least gotten proper closure. "He won't be back," he said, a small smile on his face.

I sighed. "I honestly don't know why he would have come here in the first place."

A little after nine, Eric went down to unload the wood from the barn out of his truck, and I popped down for my evening cup of tea with Amelia, who was closing. We did it a couple of times a week. I found her loading the massive dishwasher. She looked up, immediately noticing the huge bandage on my hand. "What happened to you?"

"Knife slipped when I was making dinner. We just got back from the hospital. I had to get stitches."

She wrinkled up her nose. "Yuck."

I grabbed two mugs and a mint tea for me, and a chamomile one for her. I sat down and waited for the kettle to boil. "Did you hear what Eric said to my ex?"

She shook her head. "Nope, but they weren't good customers. Didn't even tip."

I felt silly even asking. "Do I look, well, better?"

She closed up the dishwasher and came and sat beside me. "Do you mean is the grey gone?"

I rolled my eyes. "I don't believe in that stuff."

Amelia's mouth turned up into a smile. "Then why did you ask?"

Why had I asked? "I don't know. Just curious what you thought."

"Stand up." I did, and she took a step back, examining me. "You look a bit better, but the colour is still off around your head."

"But it's better? I went and helped Eric finish tearing down that barn. I took out a lot of frustration on that wall."

Amelia smiled. "For a brief encounter, he did a lot of damage. I've never seen someone's aura change so quickly. It'll take some time before you're back to normal. Octavia says an hour a day of quiet meditation is the best way to get your aura back in order."

I hadn't met Octavia. She was some new age friend of Amelia's that lived out in the woods somewhere and talked to crows. She also believed they were her ancestors, or her family or something. Crazy. The kettle boiled, and I made our tea before taking my seat again. "How was business today?"

Her eyes went wide. "I've never seen this place so busy, and I've been here ten years. I think it's the poor dollar. People are travelling closer to home. Staying in the country. Tell your husband he needs to hire an additional cook for the peak season."

I shook my head. "You tell him. He'll listen to you over me." Eric liked Amelia a lot, and since he'd bought the place, he'd given her quite a few additional responsibilities, along with a manager title. "When it comes to the restaurant."

Amelia giggled. "Did you ask him about that deck?"

I nodded, smiling. "He's going to look into it." A private deck would be great. It was the one thing our place was missing. It wouldn't be a summer if I didn't have somewhere to lay out and tan, and we didn't exactly have a yard, just the parking lot.

At about ten, Amelia locked up, and I went back upstairs and found Eric throwing out our failed dinner from earlier. "This would have been great," he sighed, scraping the bloody vegetables into the garbage can. "I'm tired. Lots of fresh air today." He stretched and yawned, hands over his head, stomach exposed.

My husband was a work of art. He had the body of a Greek god, a fleshtone David, real, with a scar here, a mole there, and a face that endured. His forehead had the smallest lines from his brow furrow, and there were lines around his mouth from smiling and frowning. I ran my fingers over his abs, feeling the soft fuzz on his stomach, the firm muscle under the soft skin. I lay my head on his chest, my arms around his waist. "Let's go to bed."

He wrapped an arm loosely around my waist, and we shuffled off to our room.

I read once that it's instinct for men to fall asleep post orgasm; something very primitive, deep inside for them to give it their all and then pass out. Eric was no exception, I thought, as I listened to his breathing slow and felt his muscles relax around me. I'd drifted off, feeling safe and secure in his arms. I awoke a few hours later remembering that I'd forgotten to take the painkillers for my hand, which hurt like hell. I wiggled my way out of Eric's embrace and made my way out into the kitchen, where I'd set my prescription.

The house was cold, colder than it had been in months. I leaned against the sink, drinking a glass of water with my pills. I hadn't taken a pill in months, and now I was taking them left and right it seemed. Anti-anxiety meds, painkillers; what was next?

After a quick stumble to the bathroom, I crawled back into bed, spooning with Eric, who had apparently been too tired to pull his shorts back on. I smiled, pressing my lips to his, before rolling over and pulling his arm around me. I'd just closed my eyes, when I was overcome with the oddest feeling, that someone was watching me. Tentatively, I opened my eyes, to find no one there, of course. It was three in the morning, and I'd locked the door myself. I always checked it twice.

I lay awake for a while, still feeling eyes on me, and then something else. Something awful and ugly. I felt a moment of relief when I realized that it wasn't a part of me, but it was sure as hell trying to be. I was better at keeping my emotions in check than I had been before, once I figured out that if I had no reason to feel a certain way, then the feelings weren't legitimate. Weren't mine.

But then the question remained, what was I feeling then? I sat up, pulling the blanket around me, and poked Eric. "Wake up."

He grumbled, before rolling onto his back, his arms stretched above his head. "What?"

"Something's weird."

He opened one eye. "Your hand?"

I shook my head, clutching the blankets tightly around me. "No. Someone's here."

He rolled towards the bedside table and flicked on his lamp, looking at me sleepily. "No one's here. Are you loopy from the Vicodin?"

"I just took it. It's not that." My eyes darted around the room, looking for something, anything to legitimize what I was feeling. I found nothing. "I felt someone watching me, and then something else. Something really awful."

He held his arm out, and motioned for me to crawl into his embrace. I internally rolled my eyes at the small grin on his face. "It's been a long couple of days. Let's just get some sleep."

I sighed, and crawled into his arms as he reached over and turned the light off, before wrapping both of them around me tightly. "Maybe it is the Vicodin."

"Night, Lover," He mumbled, kissing the top of my head.

I didn't sleep a wink the rest of the night. The next afternoon, I told Eric I was going for coffee, and Amelia and I went to meet the mysterious Octavia. Something was very wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

**Wow...you guys are making me so happy with your comments on this fic! I really like seeing where you all think I'm taking this! If you have questions, shoot me a DM, or ask in a review and I'll get back to you the best I can!  
**

**Thanks to Missus T and Ethehunter!**

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**Sookie**

Octavia's home was down what seemed like an endless dirt road to the middle of nowhere. I'd grabbed Eric's truck, making some excuse about my car not having much gas when Amelia explained that it was a bit of a trek. I didn't want him thinking I'd jumped off the deep end. As we drove deeper and deeper into the woods, I wasn't exactly sure I hadn't.

We bounced along down the road, and I fired questions at her. I wasn't sure I believed any of the mumbo jumbo she was spewing about auras and evil. I did know though, unless there was some other explanation for what I'd felt last night, then I should, at best, go back on some sort of medication and at worst, check myself into a psych ward.

I didn't think that was the answer though. Deep in my gut I knew the problem wasn't with me. I'd never felt so sure about anything. Normally, I was willing to accept that things weren't quite right with me, but I'd made a decision that day that I wanted to live, and live well, as I was laying there having my stomach pumped, clinging to life like someone pulled drowning from the sea, almost reborn. Maybe I'd always wanted to live, but just needed a kick to realize it. The week spent under psychiatric evaluation after almost dying certainly solidified that. I wasn't willing to let myself slip again, to ignore the differences between my feelings and the ones that I seemed to absorb almost, from others.

"Sookie?" Amelia snapped her fingers in front of my face. "Hello? We're almost there."

I shook my head. "Sorry, focusing on the potholes." I glanced around. Still in the middle of nowhere. "We're almost where?"

"We have to walk in. It's a real bitch in the winter. Stop here."

I stopped the truck. "There's nowhere to park."

"No one else comes back here. Right here will be fine." She hopped out of the truck, and I joined her, walking another ten minutes until we reached a beautiful cabin on a pristine lake. "Here we are. She'll know if you're skeptical, and totally call you out on it, just so you know."

"I'm not skeptical. I just think the proof is in the pudding. Show me something I can hold onto. See."

"You're a Christian, right?"

I nodded. In some strange way, I still was. Years of church would do that.

"That's the whole fundamental backbone of your religion. Belief with nothing tangible, right?" She knocked on the door. "Just keep an open mind."

I could try and do that. I was the one sensing something evil, after all. "Fine." I smiled, as a warm, sixty-ish black woman with wild hair opened the door.

"Amelia. And this must be Sookie." She nodded at me, before moving aside. "Come in."

We sat down in an incredibly bright living room, with the most amazing birch furniture. Eric would have loved it. Octavia vanished for a minute and returned with tea and cookies. She was kind of like a grandmother, grey streaks lining her hair, her eyes kind. "So, Amelia tells me you've got a bit of darkness in you."

I shot Amelia a look. "Oh, I think I'm okay."

Octavia narrowed her eyes at me. "You've got some psychic abilities. Your aura is the right shade of blue. All except your head, which is odd."

"So I've been told. What do you mean psychic abilities?"

"You're sensitive." She leaned back in her chair, looking me over. "I don't know how that manifests itself with you. It's different with everyone, but your aura is just that perfect inky blue. You're strong."

"What's with my head?" I wanted to be skeptical. I did. However, it wasn't like she was telling me something I hadn't considered before, or even deep down known to be true.

"Someone drained you a bit. There's a hole in your aura." She stood up and tapped my forehead. "It's affecting your third eye. In the temporal lobe. It's a leak or a chink..."

"In her armour." Amelia finished her sentence. "I thought so too."

I leaned back, still trying to play the skeptic. "Now, if I were to believe what you're saying, how would I go about fixing this so called 'chink'?"

"Part of you believes, or you wouldn't be here." Octavia raised an eyebrow at me. "Now let's stop this hypothetical speak right now."

As much as I wanted to argue with her, I knew something was wrong, and it had been since I saw Bill in the restaurant. "Fine. How do we fix me?"

Octavia stood up and bustled into another room and came back with a huge, leather bound book. "I've never done this before, so you'll have to bear with me. I've seen it done, just never done it myself. You've been muddled for a long time, Sookie darlin'. You've managed to put a band aid over the problem, but you've never fixed it entirely. It's funny, how the people who are the most sensitive often carry the biggest burdens, and you my child, have a mighty big one you've been struggling with. It's a deep hole there, in a bad spot. Small at the surface, but very deep."

I furrowed my brow, wondering just how much Amelia had told her about me. Amelia didn't know everything, either. "What do you mean?"

"There's a loss, of self, and someone else. You lost control. You've got it back, kind of, but it's delicate. All the best psychics are a little bit crazy, but having control over your gift is of the utmost importance."

Fucking Bill. I wasn't really sure what she meant exactly, by my gift, but I continued to ask questions. "So you can fix this, make it right?"

"I can sure try, and if I can't, we'll drive three hours north to my mentor, but you don't want to do that. He's a real pain in the ass, Niall is. Now, Amelia get up, and Sookie, you go lay down on the couch."

I followed her directions, lying down. "How will I know if it works?"

"Sugar, you'll know. It'll feel like a weight off. Relax now, and look at me."

I kept my eyes open, watching Octavia do all sorts of one handed gestures around my head, while Amelia looked on, enthralled. "You can actually see the colours changing."

Octavia shushed her. "Come now. Don't interrupt." I watched as she stood up and grabbed a hunk of quartz off a side table and placed it on my forehead. "Now Sookie, I want you to envision yourself bathed in white light. God's light, if you believe in that stuff."

I thought about it as hard as I could, and gasped when I actually felt a shift, as an invisible weight that I hadn't even realized was there dissipated. I pulled the rock off my forehead and sat up. "Holy shit."

A huge grin came over Octavia's face. "Skeptics into believers."

"I don't know about that, but I do feel better." I turned my hand over and looked at it. "Even my hand feels better."

Octavia turned her attention to my hand, sitting down beside me and examining my bandaged hand. "This, I don't know about."

"What?"

She shook her head, and looked down. "Nothin'. You should both get home before dark. These woods are odd at night if you aren't used to them."

What the hell did that mean? Amelia stood up. "I should get back to work the dinner shift. Don't want the boss getting mad."

I hadn't decided if I was going to tell Eric about this little trip down the rabbit hole. "Thanks, I think." I extended my good hand towards Octavia.

She responded by hugging me. "You come on back if you have any more problems. I'll try to sort you out. Pay attention to your gift Sookie. It's strong, even though you've been ignoring it."

She stood on her porch and waved us off, a crow sitting on the railing beside her. "That's Lester, her son. I went to high school with him." Amelia smiled. "He was killed by a drunk driver when we were seventeen. Believe parts of what she says, or all of it, but if you're feeling better, then something was accomplished."

I shrugged. "You're right." She'd sort of made a believer out of me, about what though, I wasn't exactly sure. I believed that I felt better. "What's the dinner special tonight?"

"Buffaloaf. Like meatloaf..."

I wrinkled up my nose. "...But made of buffalo?"

She shrugged. "Lafayette wanted to try it. It's very lean. I'll pack some up for you guys."

We pulled in the yard and went our separate ways, Amelia in the backdoor towards the restaurant and me in the other backdoor which lead to Eric's workshop.

I found him sanding a giant log, in a flimsy white tanktop and a pair of old tattered jeans. I loved working Eric. I sat beside him on his bench. "Hey."

He smiled, setting the log down. "Hey. How was your day?"

I didn't lie to Eric. I never had. "We ended up going to visit one of Amelia's friends way out in the woods for tea."

"How's your hand?" He reached for it and gave it a look, well, as much as anyone could through the bandage. "Are you going back to work tomorrow?"

I nodded. "I really should. What are you making?"

"A bench. This is one of the beams from the barn."

I never would have even recognized it. It was smooth and looked like new wood. "Impressive."

He smiled, and then his face darkened slightly. "What were you talking about last night?"

I wanted to shrug it off, blame it on the meds, but I couldn't. "I felt something. Like an evil of some sort. And someone watching us."

He sat back on his bench, leaning against the wall, his brow furrowed. "Like a ghost?"

I tried to laugh it off. "I don't know. Maybe it was just the meds. It sounds so silly."

He straddled the bench. "Turn around for a sec."

I did, so my back was facing him. He pulled my shirt up a bit, examining my back. The scratches. Right. I'd almost forgotten about them. "When Pam first died, when I was in our house still, this is going to sound ridiculous, but I could smell her, everywhere. She always wore this Dior perfume. I used to buy her a bottle at Christmas every year. Anyway, it was her smell, since we met when we were kids. She convinced her mother to get her a bottle for her sixteenth birthday. Ridiculous, I know, but that was Pam. She loved that stuff. That smell nearly drove me nuts in that house after she died. I washed the bedding, and the curtains, and had the furniture cleaned, but it was still there, strong as ever, stronger than when she'd lived there."

"What does that have to do with the scratches?"

"I smelled the perfume today." He pulled my shirt down, and I turned to face him, seeing the sadness in his eyes. "Upstairs, in our room. As strong as it had been in our house."

I wasn't a big perfume girl. Never had been. I certainly didn't own Dior anything. "Oh."

"And then I remembered your scratches. I was pretty happy to just dismiss them, but combined the smell, and how you're feeling, I don't know if I can." He ran a hand over his scruff, his face tense.

I put my good hand in his, and squeezed gently, my eyes meeting his. "What about the scratches?"

He sighed. "When I decided to stop drinking, it was because Pam's back looked like yours, and I couldn't remember if I'd done it. Turned out I hadn't."

My eyes went wide. "Pam had a ghost too?"

He chuckled. "No, a lover. I guess it's good I'm laughing about that now, because I sure as hell wasn't then."

I'd known she cheated on him. The whole idea just seemed so absurd, disconnected from the Eric I knew that was so all consuming that I'd hardly noticed another man since we'd met. "So that was the beginning of the end?"

"I should have kicked her out. Moved out. Ended things. Done something." He shook his head. "Her and I though, there was something. We just couldn't let go. I'm not the kind of man that puts up with that shit."

I had a thought, and I felt my eyes start to well up. "Did you think that I..."

He shook his head, pulling me to his chest. "Shhh. No. You're not that kind of girl. I wouldn't have married someone like that again."

Just like I wouldn't have gotten involved with a man with so much ugliness inside him again. Eric was quiet, his emotions uncluttered with ulterior motives. I'd known that somehow, the minute I laid eyes on him. "Okay."

"I don't know what any of this means. Maybe it's all a string of coincidences."

"Maybe."

He ran his hand over my hair. "We have to wait and see. I don't know what else we can do. Really, this whole thing is quite absurd."

He was right. A smell, some scratches, and a bad feeling weren't anything to act on. "Why now?"

"That's what I don't understand either. Actually, I don't understand any of it."

"Amelia's friend Octavia said I'm sensitive."

Eric smirked. "You did cry during Garden State the other day."

I pulled away and punched him gently. "It reminded me of you and me."

He cracked a grin. "Right."

"And I love Natalie Portman. She's got such fantastic range. But she didn't mean that kind of sensitive."

He narrowed his eyes. "What did she mean then?"

"She didn't know exactly. I think she meant in a spiritual sense."

Eric snorted. "That's a nice thing to tell someone, and then send them on their way."

"I know, right?" I ran my fingers through his scruffy blond hair, which was ever lightening as summer kicked in. It had been much longer when we first met, almost to his shoulders. It seemed like every time he got it cut, he went a bit shorter.

I liked it short. It suited him. He was far too serious to have such wild hair. I wondered if Pam would even recognize him today. Somehow I doubted it.

"Does she mean like psychic? Can you read my thoughts, Mrs. Northman?" His lips curled up into a smile. He sure knew how to turn things around. I had no control, not when it came to him. Then again, he didn't push things either.

"If I could, I think I'd probably like what I heard." I got up on my knees so we were face to face, and kissed him, softly at first, smiling into his mouth as he pulled me to him, his hand gently wrapped in my hair.

Eric was a hair puller, but not really a scratcher. Not in my experience, anyway. I leaned into his kiss, my hands still in his hair as he unbuttoned my cardigan, dropping it into a pile of sawdust from the piece he was working on. I'd just gone for his belt, when the bell in the front of the shop indicated that someone had come in. He groaned, tilting his forehead to mine. "Shit. I meant to lock up."

He kept odd hours, usually opening a few hours a day and for appointments. Most of his things weren't bought by walk-ins. I sat back on my heels, as he went to front, the door to his shop swinging behind him, as I shook out my sweater, and listened to some gushing about Eric's work, and the storefront, and all of that. Eventually, I walked out to find Eric leaning against the doorframe, speaking to a well-dressed couple examining a huge coffee table he'd made a while ago. "It's fifteen hundred. I can arrange to ship it if you want."

The man smiled. "How much for the end table as well?"

He thought about it. Eric usually made up his prices on the spot, and a lot of the time it depended on how he felt about the customer. "Twenty-five hundred."

Clearly, he wasn't impressed. I guess they had stood in the way of him getting some. Not that he didn't get some quite often. We were newlyweds, after all. "Twenty-three?" The woman asked, running her hands over the wood, smiling slightly at Eric.

He sighed. "Fine. Let me calculate the shipping, and I'll give you a total."

He moved behind the antique register that had come with the shop and turned on his laptop. "It's going to Florida," the woman practically exclaimed.

Eric looked unimpressed. "Zip code?"

She gave it to him and continued going on and on about his pieces and how nice they were, all the while looking at him like he was sex on a stick.

Which he was. I could hardly blame her. But he was taken. I moved out, sticking my hands in his back pocket. "Hey. It's buffaloaf over at Salty's tonight."

He turned around and gave me a wink, and mouthed, 'thank you.' "Great. I'm just finishing up here, and then we'll head home."

"I'll go pick some up and meet you there." I winked back, and headed out through the shop. About twenty minutes later, I heard his heavy steps on the stairs.

He collapsed on the couch. "Ugh. You should have heard them. They caught a glimpse of the chairs I started for the deck. Wanted a set just like them. I don't do sets of things. I hate people like that. So fucking self-entitled."

"So artistic." I unwrapped the food that Amelia had set aside for us. "But you got rid of them?"

"Eventually." He eyed the buffaloaf. "This actually looks good."

"Can you still smell the perfume?" I looked at him, a small smile on my face. It was more fun to make this seem ridiculous than acknowledge that we perhaps had some sort of problem. I hadn't noticed a thing. No bad feelings, no nothing.

And I felt fantastic. Maybe I could talk Octavia into doing some sort of aura fixing thing every month or so. Or buy some quartz and learn how to do it myself. I had no idea what she'd done, but I felt clearer than I ever remembered feeling. I'd felt fine before, but I hadn't realized that I was able to feel this great.

"No. No perfume. Only buffaloaf." He grinned, taking a big bite before groaning loudly. "This is going on the menu."

He was right. It was damn good. "So about our house problem. What do we do now?"

"Like I said. We wait and see, I guess. Can we make a deal though?"

I nodded.

He looked down, before meeting my eyes. "If you feel anything, tell me, and I'll do the same. I don't want us both going crazy here, Sook, and both of us have the tendency to be a bit neurotic. Let's be neurotic together."

"I can do that." I smiled. I wasn't quite sure what I'd done to deserve Eric. I guess maybe we'd put up with a lot individually to end up with each other. "Maybe we should keep a log."

"Tuesday, May third. Call Ghostbusters? That kind of thing?"

I punched him playfully in the arm. "At least we're laughing."

"We're eating buffaloaf and laughing, and I made $2,300 bucks today, from some furniture that I didn't even like. That doesn't sound like a bad day at all." He winked, eating the last of his dinner. "Have I told you lately how much I love you, and how incredibly happy you make me?"

I tapped my chin, a huge grin on my face. "Probably, but I do like to hear it."

He leaned over and whispered in my ear, his arm around my waist, "You make me so fucking happy I can hardly believe my luck sometimes. I pinch myself on a daily basis. You make me feel alive, in a way I didn't even know was possible"

I grinned, as he kissed my ear. "Ditto."

He stopped, pulling away slightly. "Wait. Isn't that a line from that ghost movie?"

I giggled. "You mean Ghost, the movie?"

"Yea," he whispered, his lips back on my ear. "Maybe you shouldn't say ditto."

"How about I say, all of those things you just said, and then I add this. I can't imagine my life without you in it, and I never want to."

"Perfect," he whispered, "Now, I think we were interrupted earlier."

"Why, Mr. Northman, I believe we were." I squealed, as he tossed me over his shoulder, carried me into the bedroom and dumped me on the bed. "Close the curtains, huh?" Our bedroom was on the main street.

He nodded, pulling them shut, before joining me on the bed. In a split second, his lips were on mine, and I relished the feeling of his weight on top of me; his strong hands, rough and calloused, set my skin on fire. No matter how many times we'd fucked, one thing was certain. No one ever made me feel like he did.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered, his lips wet on my ear. My eyes met his, and the playful look in his eyes made my heart skip a beat.

The first time he'd said those words to me, was the first time we'd been together, in his tiny apartment in New Orleans, after I'd been in town a couple of weeks. I wanted him so badly then, I had since the minute I'd laid eyes on him. Wanted that connection, needed to ensure it was there, because everything else was. We'd kissed the second night and every night after that, and he'd been a perfect gentleman, walking me back to my hotel each night.

That night though, was different. He'd invited me into his space, and I'd accepted, both of us knowing what the result would be. It had been weird, knowing so much about someone you'd never really set eyes on, and quickly finding that they were everything that you hoped desperately that they would be, maybe even needed them to be. We'd gone slow that first night, learning each other's bodies hoping to maybe someday know as much about how we felt physically as we did about one another emotionally.

That night, as I came screaming Eric's name, grateful that the restaurant had closed a half an hour ago, since that the windows were open, I realized that we we'd reached that point, physically, knowing each other as well as we did emotionally. We probably had been for a while. I hooked my thighs around his hips as he came, his face buried in the crook of my neck muffling his groans. He was always a bit more reserved.

"Perfect," he whispered, leering at me as I crawled out of bed a few minutes later to clean up and take my painkiller. He stood beside me a few minutes later, waiting for the remnants of his hard on to go away so he could pee. "Let's always be newlyweds." He grinned beside me.

"Deal." I winked, tipping the glass of water back and choking down the huge pill.

I slept like the dead that night. Evil, smells, scratches, none of them were any match for painkillers, a huge hunk of buffaloaf, and an incredible screw, courtesy of my fucktacular husband.


	5. Chapter 5

**Dun Dun dun...And the plot thickens. I think by now most of you may have figured out what's going on, but if you haven't this chapter may be of help. Anyway, like I said, let me know if you have questions as we go, and I'll do my best to answer them!**

**Thanks so much for taking the time to leave notes! I know this is kind of an unusual story, but I think you'll like where I'm going.  
**

**Thanks Missus T and Ethehunter, and TVgirlsvm for prereading!**

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**Eric**

The next two weeks passed without event. I started our new deck, which wasn't going to be huge, but would be big enough for the chairs I'd built us, a bench that ran the length of it, and a table for us to set dinner or drinks on.

Sookie got her stitches out, and we celebrated, the way we celebrated most things as newlyweds, only this time we packed up my truck and went camping for the night at a deserted beach on the coast for a night. It was fantastic, sitting out under the canopy of stars, not a bit of unnatural light anywhere, save for our Coleman lantern. We woke up freezing, the air half run out of our air mattress, but we made the best of it, by warming each other up. We were good at that.

I'd been totally freaked out when I thought I'd smelled Pam in our house. Once I smelled that, the scratches hit me like a ton of bricks too, and I was kind of ashamed to think, for a brief second, that Sookie was cheating on me, maybe with the principal at her school, or that fucking gym teacher, Calvin, who was always checking her out when I met her after work. I had an awful vision of her on her desk, some other guy buried deep inside her, and it made me almost physically ill.

But then the rational part of my mind kicked in, and I realized that she'd never do that, and the marks hadn't been there the night before when we'd been together. It was residual cheating suspicion left over from Pam. Sookie was pretty much an open book, and if she was unhappy, I truly believed that I'd figure it out long before it ever got to the point to where she felt like she needed to go outside our relationship to get something she was lacking with me. I'd never really figured out what Pam was lacking, and why she'd checked out of our marriage. Maybe I hadn't tried hard enough. That didn't really matter now though, the only thing that mattered was that I learned from my mistakes.

Around noon, we left the beach and headed home, stopping to check out a couple of antique stores and a fish market that had lobsters fresh off the boat. In fact, you could even see the boat from the store. We each picked one out and headed home with the two of them in our camping cooler.

"I can't wait to cook them up. You see, this is why we moved to Maine." I grinned over at her.

"I'm going to have to go in the other room while you're cooking them. I'm going to feel terrible about watching them die. They're kind of cute, in a pre-historic way."

"They hiss when you cook them up, too. You'll probably want to go in the bathroom or something."

She wrinkled up her nose. "Gross. You'll have to be chief lobster cooker in our household. I don't think I can do it."

We unloaded the camping stuff into my shop, and then headed upstairs, lobsters in hand. I could still hear them in the box, trying desperately to free themselves from the elastic bands around their claws. Sookie just shook her head at me. "Men."

"It's the thrill of the kill, Lover. What can I say?"

"You didn't even catch them."

"But I'm going to kill them with my bare hands. And a pot of boiling water." I extended my hip towards her as she fumbled for my keys in my pocket. "That's not my keys."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're insatiable."

I raised one back. "Thank you."

She put the key in the door, and we shuffled in, dumping our stuff from the night in the foyer. Sookie headed towards the bathroom, and I dropped the lobsters, as I heard her call for me, a very weird tone in her voice.

Every picture in the living room was upside down. I swallowed, and blinked in disbelief, and a chill reverberated through me. "Wow."

"Shit," She whispered, grabbing my hand. "So much for laughing it off."

I felt sick, a primal need to leave a dangerous situation. "Come downstairs with me. Maybe Lafayette and Amelia are playing a weird prank or something. They're both gone if they are." Amelia had a key to our place, and both of them knew about the weird stuff that had been going on. However, I didn't think either of them would fuck with us. Not knowing what they did about Sookie's past mental state.

"I don't think it was them," She said, her voice small.

I sighed. "Me neither."

Amelia was setting the tables for dinner when we walked in. "How was camping?"

Sookie glanced at me. "Wonderful. Hey, were you upstairs?"

She shook her head. "It was a madhouse here last night. I thought about taking you both some leftovers for dinner tonight since we had your gumbo on special, but we sold out of it."

"Oh." Sookie sighed. "Can you come upstairs for a minute?"

She finished folding the napkins on the table she was setting and then followed us upstairs, gasping loudly as we walked into the living room. "Shit, guys."

"You're sure you or Lafayette weren't up here?" I looked her straight in the eye, trying to determine if she was for some fucked up reason trying to get us to sell the restaurant or something. Amelia seemed quite happy though. Everyone did. I'd given the entire staff that had stayed on a small raise, and was far more flexible with their schedules than the last owner had been.

She stared unblinking at the wall, which was now an upside down mix of baby pictures, wedding pictures, and random photos we'd both taken. "Positive. That's, wow. That's like twenty frames."

Sookie had moved her back against my chest. She looked up at me, her troubled expression probably masking my own. "I don't know what we do here."

"I don't either." I looked at Amelia. "Any suggestions?"

She furrowed her brow. "I'll have to talk to Octavia."

Sookie pulled away from me and stood on the couch to start righting the pictures. "Tell her we'll pay her, or whatever she wants. We need to figure this out."

I moved to help her with the higher ones that I'd hung. "So we're going with the ghost theory?"

She shrugged, firmly turning our wedding photo over. "I don't know what else we could possibly go with."

"Freak house specific earthquake that only affected our pictures?" I gave her a grim grin.

Amelia walked around the house a little more, and came back. "Nothing else looks weird, and I'm not good with vibes. Only auras. I'll give Octavia a call and get back to you guys. Unless you want to come crash on my couch?"

I shook my head. We couldn't run from this. We didn't even know what it was. One look at Sookie told me that she concurred."No. We'll stay here. Thanks, Amelia."

She nodded and headed out the door. "I'll call you tomorrow and we'll set something up with Octavia."

Sookie flopped down on the couch a minute later. "Well, hell," she exclaimed, sighing loudly. "I don't even know how I'm supposed to feel."

I glanced around the room. "I'm going to do something really weird. Don't judge me."

She nodded, a small smile on her face. "Go on."

I sat down beside her, and talked to the air, tentatively. "Pam, if you are indeed here, you need to go to the light. Leave us be. I've moved on with my life."

Sookie snorted. "That's really going to make her feel good."

"I'm not trying to make her feel good. I'm trying to get rid of her." I stood up and looked around. "Pam, we'd probably be divorced now anyway. Go harass that man whose yard you were found in, or whoever killed you."

"Wow. You're like Dr. Phil harsh." Sookie crossed her legs on the couch, and pulled a ratty afghan that her grandmother had made around her lap. "Why don't you tell her how you really feel?"

I rolled my eyes at her. "I don't think you'd want to hear that."

She shot me a knowing look. "I know you cared about her at some point in time, and I'm okay with that. You don't have to be an asshole to ghost Pam for my benefit."

"It's not for your benefit. I have a lot of not-so-nice things I'd say to her if I ever saw her again." I sat back down beside her. I'd been to therapy and AA, both of which ultimately preached forgiveness. It wasn't that I hadn't forgiven Pam for lying and cheating; it was more that we had unfinished business, namely, the questions that would never be answered. Why we were unable to communicate with one another? Why she'd stuck around, if I wasn't who she wanted?

Also, there was the question of who killed her. I would have asked that too. That bit of unresolved business had weighed quite heavily on my mind for ages, until I finally came to terms with the reality that it didn't really matter who had killed her, the result was the same. She was still gone, and I hadn't really known her the way I should have for years before then.

"Well if she's haunting us, she's probably all angsty and tormented, so you probably shouldn't egg her on. Is there something nice you can say, maybe make her a little less angry?"

I thought about it. "Pam, we were happy once. I'm happy again. I'd want you to be happy, if things had worked out differently. I'm sorry you're dead." I glanced at Sookie. "Happy?"

"I feel like the two of you had a very different relationship than we do." She gave me a half smile. "Pam, I know I didn't know you, but I'm trying to take good care of Eric, and I think I'm doing a very good job."

"You are, Lover." I smiled back, squeezing her hand under the blanket.

"Anyway, if you could leave us alone and haunt someone else, that would be great. Thanks. Bye." She giggled. "I'm not good at talking to nothing."

I shrugged. "Who is? I don't know what we're supposed to do here."

"Was Pam ever violent? I mean, should we be worried about that?"

I furrowed my brow, glancing at the small scar on my arm where she'd stabbed me with a fork when we were eighteen. "She was very passionate. Unpredictable."

She scrunched up her face at me. "Are you being obtuse on purpose?"

"She stabbed me with a fork once. We were kind of dysfunctional, and not in the way that you are I are. Our dysfunctions kind of fed off of one another's." We'd had our good moments, but we'd had our bad ones too. Probably an even number of both. "I don't know. I was younger then. We were quite young when we married. I probably had a higher bullshit tolerance than I do now."

"A fork?"

I turned my arm over. "Two weeks before I proposed. I'd already bought the ring. I reconsidered, briefly."

She ran her finger over the scar. "Why did she stab you?"

Why indeed. "We were drunk, and I'd said something she didn't like. I don't know. No real reason." Pam had always been quite random, which had its good and bad points.

"Great. So she's randomly violent." Sookie sighed. "Is there anyone else that could have gotten up here?"

So she didn't want to believe the ghost theory any more than I did. The only person who briefly crossed my mind was Bill, but I seriously doubted he'd hung around to mess with my picture hanging. Not after our last interaction. "I think if it was anyone else, they'd probably have done more than just turned the pictures over since we have a giant flat screen still hanging on the wall, and nothing else was touched. Sook, I don't know what to think."

"Well that makes two of us." She stood up and walked into the kitchen, returning with a glass of water for each of us. "I just, I don't understand why now, and why us. You didn't kill her."

"I don't even know who killed her." My conscience had made me feel quite bad about that for a while, but I had to let it go. I wasn't a detective, nor was I about to go stick my nose in an active case, not when I'd been cleared of it. I'd finally come to terms with the fact that she was dead, and nothing was going to bring her back. Not putting her killer in prison or anything else. I came to terms with things, found my own closure.

"I can tell you that it doesn't matter who killed her," Sookie said, her voice small. "Not in the greater scheme of things."

"I know." I gave her a half smile. "Listen, do you want to go for a walk or something? Get out of here for a bit?" Because I did. Just being here, thinking about everything again, was stifling. I felt like I couldn't breathe.

The colour drained from Sookie's face as she looked at me. "Yea. Let's go."

Once we were down the street a bit, she leaned over, wrapping her hand in mine. "Did you feel a bit sick in there, because you looked like you did."

I nodded. "It's just a lot, thinking about Pam again. Especially in this context, which is as absurd as it is terrifying."

She started to say something, and then stopped herself. "Our house feels heavy. Like the air."

Dammit, she'd noticed. "I know." I raised my eyebrows. "I think we're looking for things now. Signs. Maybe they were always there and we just weren't looking before."

She nuzzled her nose into my shoulder. "Do you want to stay in a bed and breakfast? Maybe the Black Friar?"

We'd had some good nights there when we'd first moved up. "We can't stay in a B and B forever." I wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "We're going to have to deal with this."

"Which would be easier, if we knew what this was." She sighed, wrapping an arm around my waist. "I like our house. I don't want to be forced out."

"We'll deal with this together, Lover. Whatever this may be." If there was one thing I was certain of, it was that Pam was not going to fuck this up for me. Pam had fucked a lot of things up for me, but I wouldn't let it happen with Sookie. We had an amazing thing going on, better than I ever thought I'd have, in my darkest moments post-Pam, and really, even when I was with Pam and we were both unhappy. Seeing Sookie that day outside Cafe Du Monde, more beautiful than I'd anticipated, with an emptiness behind her eyes that mirrored my own, had really changed things for me.

And looking at her now, it was clear what had happened to the emptiness. We'd filled it up with one another. Now that I'd experienced whatever one wanted to call it; happiness, love, peace of mind, I wasn't going back.

Sookie nodded. "I want Octavia to come out to the house and check things out as soon as possible. She's very smart, with this type of thing, it seems. She knew Bill had upset me from my aura, she said."

"To be honest, I don't really buy into this aura thing." I squeezed her hand. "I can buy into some things, but not all of it."

"I felt better after she did what she did. That was all I needed to know." She smiled up at me.

We ended up back at home around nine, after eating crab cakes and fennel salad at Salty's. Buying the restaurant was an incredibly good call, not only because it was profitable, but also because it meant we didn't have to cook every night. We did a walk around the house together, checking for ghostly activity, but found none. Finally, we settled in front of the TV, after I tore the lobsters apart and put the meat in a rubbermaid container in the fridge.

At thirty-three, this wasn't exactly where I envisioned myself, say, ten years earlier. We rarely went out, I didn't drink, and she rarely did, which I didn't think was for my benefit, but I did appreciate. It wasn't what I expected, but it was absolutely what I wanted and needed. I actually appreciated my days now, instead of watching them all go by in an alcohol induced haze.

Clarity was Pam's final gift to me, even if she never intended for it to be. No matter how angry I'd been with her, no matter how much we'd fought and made up, and been in love-hate with each other, she was the reason I'd cleaned my act up. I put an arm around Sookie on the couch. "Maybe everything will just be fine."

She nuzzled into my shoulder. "Mmmm. I hope so. This is all very silly."

And with that, the framed wedding picture of us feeding each other cake on the beach in the Bahamas practically flew across the room and smashed into a million pieces.

"Well, shit," I said, sighing loudly. "So much for fine."

She pulled herself off the couch, her brow furrowed. "Why the hell can't things just go smoothly? Jesus Christ, Pam, why don't you fuck off?"

And with that, a plant toppled. I hopped up and righted it. Sookie shrieked, dropping her glass of water , and I gasped, before picking it up and setting it back on the coffee table, and groaning. "I read that they feed off of anger somewhere. Let's just not be angry about this."

Sookie flopped back down and sighed, disgusted. "I just, well, I don't want to feel out of control ever again. This, this is out of control, and we don't even know what this is."

She was certainly right about that.


	6. Chapter 6

***Finishes the tent fort and turns the flashlight on* I think most of you know by now, that this is indeed a ghost story. If you didn't, I guess the cat's out of the bag now! Thanks so much for reading, and your kind comments. I'm posting lots, in the spirit of the holidays, and here's an extra special Festivus chapter. Feel free to air your grievances by clicking the little review button at the bottom. **

**Ha! Sorry, I had to try.  
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***Flexes* And now, for a feat of strength, Carpenter Eric will bench press everyone that leaves some love below. **

**Thanks for reading!**

**Also, thanks to Missus T and Ethehunter!**

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**Eric**

The next morning, after an extremely restless, but uneventful sleep for both of us, Sookie went off to work, and I sat at home waiting for Amelia and her friend to arrive. I'd tried to convince Sookie to take the day off work, or have them come after she got home, but she didn't want to, claiming she had stuff to do. She wanted to know what was going on and agreed to work a half day and come home around lunch time, while Octavia was still here.

When the black woman with the wild hair walked in without Amelia, it was apparent that I'd been set up. "I wanted to meet you alone, Mr. Northman," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "Feel you out a bit."

I moved aside as she walked in. "It's Eric. Thanks for coming, I guess, although I'm not really sure what you'll be able to do."

I knew from Sookie that Octavia was fairly new age. What she said though chilled me to my bone.

She sat down on the couch and stared at me hard. "It's you. She's stuck to you."

I sat in the chair across from her, and asked the question, even though I already knew the answer. "What? Who?"

Her eyes went to my left. "The spirit. She's stuck to you like white on rice. I feel a love hate vibe from her. You're the center of her universe now though. She can't get away, and neither can you."

The rational side of me wanted to dismiss her, call her nuts and order her out, but the truth was I believed every word she was saying. I felt Pam, like a fucked up albatross of some sort, fastened around my neck. I'd felt it after she'd died, but assumed it was simply grief.

"Why now?" I whispered, allowing myself to feel the weight for the first time. It was overwhelming, thick.

She shrugged. "Who ever knows why? It could be that she's been lost until now or that you were blocking her somehow. Sometimes it's like they just wake up, and they're gasping for air, and you're that air, so they cling to you so they can survive, because they're scared of what will happen if they don't. Scared of the other side. Sometimes they just aren't ready to go."

I lowered my voice, a bit surprised to be having such a frank conversation about something I hadn't given much thought to before all this had started. I realized when things first started started getting weired that I had no real opinions on ghosts and the supernatural. "How do I get rid of her?"

And with that, Octavia and I watched a coaster from the house I'd shared with Pam rise off the table, sitting in the air for a minute or so, before it crashed to the floor. Her eyes went wide. "She's strong. I don't think she's going to go easily. She died violently?"

I nodded. "Yea, you could say that."

She gave me a sympathetic grin. "What's her name?"

"Pam." I glanced to my left, and shivered when I realized that I could, in fact, feel something there. "She was my wife."

She sighed. "I can't tell you anymore than that. I don't know much about ghosts. Mostly about energy, and you've got a big black cloud surrounding you. Sookie's aura is much cleaner than yours, and her's was a jumbled mess."

Great. "You can't do anything?"

Octavia thought about it. "I can do what I did for Sookie and try and clean you up a bit, but I don't know that it'll help. You need someone that knows more about this type of thing. She's in there. Deep."

"If not you, then who?" I needed to fix this. I flashed back to Sookie's hand, when she cut herself, and I had an awful thought that Pam might have been to blame for that. I couldn't have that happening. I'd made a vow to myself to protect Sookie from harm and stress.

She chuckled, which was odd considering the circumstances behind our conversation. "Eric, there's no guide to this type of thing. No magic book you can read. No special person you can talk to. I mean, some of us are better at this type of thing than others, but really, the best person to figure all this out is you. I can try and get my mentor to come and feel out the situation, but I honestly don't know." She shook her head. "I've never seen someone stuck with something so completely. It's like a giant spiritual tumour."

I swallowed, sat down on the couch, and tried to figure out how the hell this had happened. What had changed? "I need it gone. Her, gone. Like she's supposed to be," I said the words calmly, even though I was anything but.

I felt sick as it all came back, the way I'd felt when she'd fucked around on me and when she died. I'd done everything I was supposed to, to get over it, to move on, and now I had a Pam flavoured spiritual tumour fucking with my rather perfect life.

She shook her head. "Like I said, Eric, you're going to have to figure how to do that." She gave me a sad look. "There are things we all need to figure out on our own."

And with that, I heard Sookie at the door. She peered around the corner and smiled at seeing us together. "Oh hey. How's it going?"

Octavia looked at me, and then at Sookie, a gleam in her eye. "You two have something special going on. I can feel your affection for one another, your love. It's very genuine."

And with that, a lamp across the room flicked on. Sookie's eyes went wide and she shook her head. "Oh, I see she's decided to make herself known."

Octavia nodded at me. "Oh yes. She's quite attached to your husband here."

Sookie sighed. "She has good taste then, I guess." She looked at Octavia. "Did you, well, do what you did to me?" She looked slightly uneasy at the thought.

Octavia shook her head. "No, but I was going to." She nodded at the chair, and Sookie went over and sat down. "Eric, lie down on the couch."

I looked between the two of them. "I don't know about this."

Sookie looked over at me, a small smile on her face. "It doesn't hurt, and since we seem to be admitting that you have a ghost stuck to you, we should probably do what we can here."

After Octavia finished doing whatever it was that she did, she quickly left, and Sookie moved over to sit beside me on the couch. "I feel stupid for buying into this, but it did help. Do you feel better?"

I felt a little lighter, but now that it had been pointed out, I was looking for Pam. I couldn't feel her at that moment, but I sure had earlier. "I don't know. Maybe a little?"

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around my waist. "It's not like we've been given much choice. I don't know what the other options are."

I nuzzled the crook of her neck, taking her in smell. "I don't want her to hurt you."

She shook her head, a renewed strength in her eyes. "I'm fine. We'll be fine."

For the next three weeks after that, everything was, indeed, fine. Better than fine. Quiet, peaceful, and back to normal. Sookie finished up teaching for the summer, and I finished our deck, and a few furniture orders that I had gotten in a while ago.

We'd just finished dinner, a very filling chicken salad that we'd actually made, and were enjoying the last rays of sun on our new deck, when she turned to me and said something quite profound. "I don't think she's gone. I think she's observing us."

I set my glass down. "What?"

"Pam." She tucked her legs under her. "In a sense, I can still feel her. It's a weird sadness, not the evil that I felt the first night. A longing feeling maybe?"

"Do you think it's worth having Octavia's mentor come up and see if he can sense anything?" I laughed. "Wow, if you'd asked me three months ago what I thought about people sensing things, I would have thought you were nuts, and now I'm asking."

She gave a little shrug. "I don't know, it doesn't seem so out there. You know, I was thinking that all this really started when Bill came to town, and I had that panic attack."

"That's true." We both looked at each other for a minute. "But I don't know how that is related to this."

"Someone needs to write a manual about being haunted, I think." Sookie smiled, putting her feet in my lap.

"Oh, but that would take all this great mystery out of it. I mean, what else would we be doing, if we weren't being haunted?" I shook my head.

Later that night, I walked into my AA meeting about ten minutes early and took a seat in the middle. I didn't like sitting in the front because it drew a lot of attention, and sitting in the back made it look like you didn't really want to be there. I recognized a lot of people from around town; the man that owned the gas station, the former mayor. I hadn't spoken at a meeting in a while, but I'd decided that tonight was a good a night as any. It wasn't easy, sharing your story with a bunch of people that you knew, but not in this capacity. I'd been putting it off since I moved here, quite content being an active participant, instead of sharing.

My sponsor, Stan, a local writer who had sober eight years, nodded as I walked in, and I joined him while he had a cigarette. Stan had his shit together and was a really good sponsor. I got an email joke from him almost daily, and he made himself available whenever, even though he was married with a couple of kids. He also wasn't too intrusive, waiting for me to come to him with a problem, which I hadn't. Yet.

Stan smiled. "Haven't seen you in a while."

I gave him a nod, and stuffed my hands in my pockets. "I think we've been attending opposite meetings. Things have been busy. Good, but busy. The restaurant is picking up with summer business. How's your book?"

"In editing." He wrote this creepy, Stephen King-esque fiction that was quite popular under a pen name while freelancing for a number of magazines and newspapers on the east coast. "How's Sookie?"

I wondered if I should tell him. It was probably right up his alley. Maybe I could invite him over and feel out his interest. "She's good. Listen, do you want to come over for dinner next week? I'd like to you meet her."

He looked up, thinking about it. "Yea, I can do that. Email me the details. I won't bring the family." He cracked a grin. "The kids are just getting over the chicken pox. Isabel got them, too." His wife. I hadn't met her. "So a night away would be nice, for me anyway."

I nodded before we walked in and took our seats.

Despite how weird things had been, I actually felt good, knowing that I hadn't had the urge to have a drink, even with Pam's odd return to my life. How ghost Pam was less troublesome than real Pam had been was a bit of a mystery though.

The format of AA meetings here varied slightly from some of the others that I'd attended, starting with someone telling their story, and then going onto a topical conversation about a common struggle. They were open, sometimes drawing people who had loved ones dealing with alcoholism in their lives in some way. I'd brought Sookie to one when we first spent the month together in New Orleans, because I wanted her to really understand what she was signing up for, if she wanted to give us a real chance.

She'd sat quietly, taking it all in, listening to everything that was said, her hand wrapped tightly in mine. She'd been okay with it, really okay with it, at the end, and I'd gladly gone with her a few weeks later to see her therapist. We went into our relationship with eyes wide open, which was the only way either of us would be able to have anything real with one another. We'd decided that right from the beginning.

There were about twenty people there, the usual number, and since I'd told the chair that I wanted to speak during the meeting, I was first up. The meeting was called to order, and after a few minutes of going over notes and general information, he gestured to me, and I joined him at the front of the room. I'd started going once every couple of weeks, since my urges were rather minor lately.

Standing up and telling a bunch of mostly strangers your story was both terrifying and cathartic. I got right down to it.

"My name is Eric, and I'm an alcoholic. I've been sober for five years." I looked out over the group. Most people were listening intently. A couple looked quite hungover. Recovery was a slow process for some. "I had my first drink at thirteen from my dad's bar after he'd passed out. He was a colonel in the US Army who was a complete and utter asshole to my Mom and me. He was verbally abusive, and took the pressures of his job out on us. I have very few happy memories growing up, most of them not involving him. He was away a lot. Anyway, needless to say, the alcohol filled a hole that I didn't even know was there. Partly. The rest was filled by my wife at the time, who had the same vices as me. Before I realized having vodka with my eggs was a problem, everything was fine. We were both in the arts, and most of our friends were using some sort of substance, usually more than one." Pam had been quite a successful artist, who had even been called a child prodigy by some. "So every day, we'd do our thing, create, and then destroy ourselves in whatever way we wanted to that night. I didn't care about much then, how I looked to others or about the outside world at all. We had disposable income, a house, each other, really everything we needed."

I thought back to the morning, with the scratches. "And then I had a startling realization. I didn't have anything at all. I couldn't remember more than a few scant moments of the last year, and my wife may or may not have been cheating on me. I had no idea, because I was drunk all the time. I rolled over one morning, and I couldn't remember if we'd slept together recently or when she'd come home the night before. I needed to know that, because if we hadn't, then things weren't as good as I thought they were. I questioned things that morning, my life, where I was going, my relationship, and it was the best thing I could have done. I found AA later that afternoon."

I smiled at the nods of encouragement from the audience. "My wife died about six months after that. She was murdered, and if I hadn't sobered up I would not have been able to say with certainty that I hadn't killed her, because I didn't know what I was doing half the time when I was drinking. I struggled with my sobriety after her death for quite a while, but going to meetings really saved my life. I've been sober now for five years, and in that time I've been more successful, in my professional and personal life, than I ever would have imagined possible. Being sober is like having a light turned on that you didn't even know was switched off. There are days that it's hard, and I still grieve the relationship that I once had with booze, and that's okay, but in my opinion, I was not really living until I got sober."

Everyone clapped politely, and I sat down beside Stan, who gave me a hearty pat on the back. "Good work, man."

I gave him a nod. "Thanks."

The conversation topic for the meeting was one day at a time, which was a fairly easy one. Sometimes they were things like dealing with rage or sorrow, which really got people going. I made my way out, after saying goodbye to a few people that I'd probably see at Salty's through the week. People took the anonymous thing quite seriously, which was really good to know. I'd never thought people would be capable of that before I joined.

I stopped on the way home and picked up a few things for breakfast the next day; some fruit, bagels and cream cheese. I was happy that Sookie had found a teaching position, but it was really nice having her around during the day in the summer. We'd been sleeping late and she'd been keeping me company while I built the never ending orders I seemed to have coming in. We were both helping out at the restaurant most lunches for an hour or so as well. I loved watching her smile and interact with people with ease, which was a real contrast to her tense stares and visible discomfort of just a year ago. She spent her alone time reading, or writing, which she'd recently taken up.

I'd thought the other day, as yet another week passed without interference from Pam, that perhaps she'd just wanted to check in, in her usual destructive way, and see how I was. She'd always been interested in the occult and the supernatural, and being in New Orleans she had every chance to indulge her interests, dragging me along on ghost walks and to haunted house parties, which usually just ended up turning into drunken orgies. If anyone was going to be a ghost, it was probably going to be Pam.

I stomped up the stairs and fumbled with my key, dropping the groceries on the counter once I was inside. The house was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. "Sook? You around?"

In response, I got a sob and a whisper. "In here."

I found her on the floor in the bathroom, tears streaming down her face, her knees pulled up to her chest. I knelt down beside her and pulled some toilet paper off the roll and handed it to her. "What's wrong?"

She took it, blowing her nose, and allowed me to take her hand. "She's just so sad and angry tonight, and I can't figure out what to do with that."

Sookie's sensitivity to the feelings of others was something we'd discussed a lot over the time we'd known one another. It would have been easy to dismiss her feelings and chalk it up to some form of mental illness, but I'd seen enough, been in enough situations with her, to know something happened when she was around others, and she certainly had a reaction to bad situations. There were names for such conditions, empath, sensitive, whatever. It was something she'd always lived with. There were times it overwhelmed her, but she was better at dealing with it than I imagined I would have been. She never really talked about it in terms of it being an ability, it was just how she processed things in her day-to-day life. "Tell me what happened."

She took a deep breath and nodded. "I was just reading, something silly, a romance paperback, and it just hit me, all this sadness and emptiness. It was so heavy, and then there were these bits of anger that weren't directed at me, but they were really strong and overwhelming. I couldn't sort things out like I usually do."

"Are you okay now?" I brushed a bit of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

She nodded, her eyes red and wet. "It started to fade a few minutes before you got home."

And then I smelled Pam. I pushed myself up against the bathtub, a sickening feeling coming over me. "I don't know how to make this stop."

"It's sad. She's so confused." She furrowed her brow, wiping her eyes again. "I can't tell who all of it is directed at, or if she's mad that we're together, if she's just angry in general, or at you."

It could have been any of the above. "I think we should have Octavia's friend come down. It can't hurt."

She stood up, and helped me off the floor, her eyes darting around the bathroom. "Pam, leave us alone. We don't know how to help you, if that's why you're here, and if you're here for Eric, you can't have him. He's mine now."

Silence.

I thought I'd give it a shot. "Pam, remember when we should have broken up? You were right, we weren't compatible anymore. Maybe if I'd let you go you'd still be around. I don't know, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Her hand in mine, Sookie and I walked out into the living room, and our eyes were drawn to a floorlamp, which was flickering sporadically. "I don't suppose that's a short." Sookie raised an eyebrow. "She's sad."

I was beyond being sensitive with her. We'd tried that. "Get out of my house, Pam. Go where you're supposed to be. It's not here. We're getting a fresh start, and after what we've been through, we deserve it."

We stood there for what seemed like ages, hand in hand. The lamp stopped flickering eventually, and everything was quiet, both spiritually and otherwise, it seemed. "She's gone. Or she's not doing whatever it was she was doing before. The smell is gone too."

I turned to her. "You smelled it too."

She nodded. "Yea. It was kind of a nice smell, for a few minutes, and then it was too much."

"I always thought the same thing." I gave a little shrug. "Can we please just go to bed? Do you mind?" I'd never felt so mentally exhausted.

One look at her told me that she was pretty damn tired as well. "I thought you'd never ask. We'll call Octavia in the morning?"

"Yea, first thing. Should we be staying here?" I really didn't want this affecting Sookie's mental state. Mine was one thing, but hers was something else entirely.

Sookie looked at me, her eyes cold. "I'm sorry, I am not being forced out of my house by this woman."

She had a point. "Okay, we'll stay."

The next afternoon, someone showed up that bore quite a close resemblance to a wizard. The infamous Niall.


	7. Chapter 7

**And here's the next chapter! I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and are looking forward to having a few days off! I know I am! **

**Thanks so much for all your kind words and well wishes. Christmas was very good to me!**

**Thanks to Missus T, Ethehunter, and Tvgirlsvm! **

* * *

**Sookie**

We welcomed the odd, wizard-like man into our home and sat down on the couch. "Is Octavia coming?" I asked, unsure about him. He was very zen, though, in his linen pants and cotton shirt, with his white scruffy beard and kind eyes.

He nodded. "We'll meet her for dinner. Too many mediums can make things confusing. You both have very interesting auras."

I really wasn't sure about this aura thing anymore than Eric was. How the hell did everyone see auras? "Thank you?"

He smiled. "So, Eric, I've been told that you have a bit of a manifestation. I can sense her."

Eric glanced at me. "Yes, we've been told that we do."

"And you know her. Your former wife, Octavia said. I'd like to try and contact her, but I'll need your full support to do that." He looked around the living room. "We'll have to darken the room. I've lead over thirty successful séances in my time as a medium."

I wanted to ask what warranted a successful séance, but I held my tongue. "How do we do this?"

He looked at Eric and me. "The spirit may choose to communicate in a number of ways. Often they choose to speak through me, but sometimes they use things like knocking or automatic writing."

"So it's all you," Eric said, somewhat gruffly. "We just have to take your word that you're speaking for Pam."

Niall shrugged. "Yea. I mean you can ask some identifying questions, if you want, but I can't exactly make her appear in spectre form. They don't opt to do that very often."

I nodded. "Okay, well, let's get this show on the road."

The show involved a black tablecloth, some candles, closed curtains and what seemed like endless meditation. We all sat there for what seemed like hours, while Niall chanted and 'centred' himself. Finally, we all joined hands around the table in silence. This seemed like a lot of bullshit to me, and from the disinterested look on Eric's face, he concurred.

But we sat there, and closed our eyes, and tried to put our skepticism out of our minds, while Niall did his very best to conjure Pam up. After a while, I opened my eyes when the chanting stopped and was surprised to see Niall staring blankly ahead, his eyes odd somehow. I poked Eric, who looked up.

"What's going on?" he whispered, his forehead tense.

"I don't know."

Niall turned his head to Eric. "Let's get something straight here. You left me."

Eric and I exchanged a confused look, before he answered. "Sorry, what?"

"You. Left. Me. You're the reason I ended up there." Niall looked at Eric, unblinking. "Why didn't you care? You should have cared more."

So she'd cheated on him for the attention? We certainly were different women. I watched the interaction, utterly confused.

Eric furrowed his brow, thinking. "Where was your first tattoo?"

"Bluebird on my hip, when you got the anchor on your back."

He looked down for a minute, visibly shocked by her words. "You need to leave."

"Remember when we got those tattoos? Remember why?" Niall's face was relaxed, still, even though his words were somewhat aggressive.

"I do. But that was a long time ago." He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing uncomfortably. "Pam, you're dead. You were murdered. And I did care. I cared so much." Eric glanced at me. "I wished for a long time that things had been different, both before and after you died, but then I moved on."

"You're not like you used to be. It took me a long time to find you."

"I need you to go." His words were absolute in their meaning. Strong. Aggressive. He wanted her gone.

And with that, Niall shook his head. "She's gone. But I have that distinct feeling that you know what you need to do."

That, again?

Eric groaned. "I don't know what you mean."

"It'll become clear. You just need to think about it."

**A week later...**

The candles on the dining room table blew out, and Stan's eyes went wide. "Shit, you weren't kidding."

Eric grinned. At least we were still grinning. "Oh, that's nothing. Usually she's breaking things."

Thankfully she hadn't really broken anything of value. I sighed. "We've consulted some people who supposedly know about these things, and we're supposed to know how to get rid of her. That's what they said. You'll just know."

Stan chuckled. "I would have killed to be there for that séance thing. You know, if I was writing this as a book, you'd get stuck having to solve her murder, so she'd leave you both alone."

I giggled. "Oh yea. Detective Northman here. Hey, maybe you could just write about it, and that would be enough. I don't suppose you're looking for a new book idea?"

Stan shrugged nonchalantly. "Let me know how this all works out for you. I could be. I love this shit."

Eric looked up at the ceiling. Not that Pam would be on the ceiling, but who the hell knew where to look. "Hear that Pam? Stan loves this shit. Maybe you can take it on over to his place for a while."

"I'm sure the girls would love that. More chaos." He smiled. "Just what I'd need. Another woman in the house." He'd flashed a couple of pictures of his daughters earlier. They looked like him, even down to the crooked grin.

I liked Stan. He was very level headed, funny, and bright. He balanced Eric nicely, who had his sullen, heavy moments. It was nice that he had someone here that he could confide in about his illness, someone that understood how he was feeling. I'd met his sponsor, Sam, in New Orleans, and even from this brief meeting, Stan seemed like a better fit. Sam was a bit of a downer.

It was easy to make light of the situation when we had other people around, but when it was just Eric and I, it was hard. I knew he blamed himself for bringing this into our lives, and no matter how hard I tried, my moods were affected by Pam, mostly to the point where I'd become upset when she tried to influence me, or whatever she was doing. We were both in a constant state of tension.

When Stan left, I decided to give Eric a bit of time to decompress and ran myself a bath. It wasn't a particularly stressful evening, but I knew he'd been nervous about Stan and I meeting, his worlds colliding, to quote the Seinfeld episode. It wasn't that we didn't talk about his addiction, but I also knew it was something he didn't like to dwell on every day. Like he'd told me once, he'd always be an alcoholic, but if he spent every minute of every day thinking about it, it would make sobriety a real drag.

The few times I'd drank socially hadn't really gone very well, because they'd resulted in panic attacks of epic proportions. I had enough trouble functioning, without the interference of anything mind altering. Because of that, I had no trouble supporting his sobriety at all. In fact, it made things easier, because there was no expectation of me drinking with him at all.

As I took a bath, I felt surprisingly alone. Pam had been quiet all day. That, or I'd become better at blocking her somehow. When she was active, I spent a lot of time sorting out her feelings and mine, to the point where I could almost sense her coming, before her emotions berated mine.

When I pulled myself out of the bath about an hour later, I found Eric in bed reading. He glanced up. "You're in my shirt."

I shrugged. "It was on the back of the door."

He smiled. "Let's get you out of that."

I would have been lying if I'd said that whatever was going on with our Pam problem hadn't put a serious damper on our sex life. I had a hard time getting in the right head space, with her bouncing sorrow and anger off of me, two emotions that I didn't exactly equate with sex. I'd explained how I was feeling to Eric, and he'd been outwardly okay with it, but I knew it was getting to him. I did a mental check though, and tonight, everything seemed quiet. I crawled onto the bed, and straddled his lap, before kissing him deeply. I pulled away, slightly breathless. "Yes, let's."

I sat back on my heels as Eric unbuttoned his cotton dress shirt and pushed it off my shoulders. "You have the most incredible breasts," he said, his voice low and husky.

I whimpered some sort of response, as his hands gently grazed the undersides of each breast, his lips on my neck. I giggled, as he flipped me onto my back and slowly moved down my body, his mouth and hands everywhere. I loved being with him like this. After everything we'd been going through, this was quiet, it was a bit of peace, heart beating and hitched breathing.

His eyes were on my face as he hitched his thumbs around my underwear and slowly pulled them over my hips, and lowered them, inch by inch, until they were around my knees. I shot him a playful look, because this was a bit of an infamous move of his, designed to keep me from squirming too much, while he pinned me to the bed and devoured me.

I lay back, my arms over my head and closed my eyes, simply enjoying how good it felt, connecting with him like this. I felt the pressure begin to build in my stomach, so warm and good. I smiled down on him, noticing the anchor tattoo on his back that I'd never given much thought to. I'd looked up the meanings though, and the anchor and a bluebird basically meant the same thing. A safe return.

Just then I was hit with something else entirely. Sadness, grief, and remorse, and lots of each. I tried to block it out, as much as I could, but it proved quite impossible.

Sobbing while your husband is going down on you is a sure fire way to kill the mood. Our eyes met, as he pulled away, and without a word went into the bathroom and slammed the door. I sat up, and pulled the blankets around me, unable to think of a way to make this right. I grabbed his shirt and pulled it around me, and knocked on the bathroom door. "Eric, I'm sorry."

He opened it a minute later, showing me an expression I'd never seen before. It was a mix of anger and frustration. He was usually so level, but right now, he was anything but, and it scared me. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back in a bit."

I nodded, watching him get dressed after I crawled back into bed. "I'm really sorry."

He didn't say a word, and a minute later I heard his key locking the door on his way out.

When he didn't return after a few hours, I started to get concerned. "Pam, you're a real bitch, you know that?" I said to nothing, as I pulled on my sweats and a hoodie. After checking the back door, and realizing that it was locked and he was inside somewhere, I headed into the restaurant, and my worst fears were confirmed.

I found him behind the bar, a quart of gin mostly empty on the counter. His eyes met mine as I sat on one of the stools. "Everything was just so good, you know? I stopped drinking, and everything was better. And then it wasn't."

I knew this went a lot deeper than what had happened tonight. I pulled my sweater around me, as looking at him was giving me the chills. "Come back upstairs, please?"

"I don't know why you'd want that. I don't know why you'd want any of this." I realized that there was no glass on the counter, so he'd either been drinking right from the bottle, or he hadn't slipped.

"And I don't know why you'd want any of this," I managed a small smile. "Do you want me to call Stan?"

He shook his head. "Not tonight. He was right though." He'd been drinking. The slur was evident in his words.

I really had no idea what I was supposed to do here. Although I'd done some reading about alcoholism, I'd never really thought ahead to what would happen if he slipped, because he was so strong. But then again, this had never happened before.

I tried not to look judgmental. "About what?"

He tipped the bottle back, and I watched, not disgusted, but saddened. "I need to find out who killed her. That's the only way this is going to stop."

"I don't think Stan was being serious."

His eyes were glazed over. "You should go upstairs."

"Not without you. I think you've had enough for tonight." I carefully screwed the lid back on the bottle of gin and put it back behind the bar, hoping that whoever opened it next didn't keep careful inventory.

After a bit of coaxing, I finally convinced him to come home. I walked in front of him and he followed me up the stairs and into our house. I stopped him at the bedroom door, and said something I never thought I'd have to say to him. "Oh, no. You're on the couch."

Drunk Eric was incredibly sad and a big part of me just wanted to comfort him, but there needed to be some consequences for this. I knew that much. I'd signed up for until death do us part, but not with this version of Eric, and he needed to understand that I wasn't going to be accepting of a permanent slip back into this lifestyle. It was selfish of me to think that, but after what I'd been through, I had to look out for me. I could deal with a slip here and there from him, but not with a full-on relapse. If he wanted me in his life, he'd have to try harder than that.

"Okay." He sighed, laying down and stretching out on the couch.

I closed the bedroom door, and wiped the tears that I'd been holding back for the better part of an hour. This was not good. I had no idea what I was going to wake up to. He wouldn't just decide to take up drinking again full-time, would he?

I drifted off to an uneasy sleep for an hour or so, and was woken up by the sound of voices in the living room. Well, one voice, really. Eric's. After listening to him mumbling for a few minutes, I got up and listened at the door.

"Why won't you just leave us alone?"

Silence.

"I didn't interfere with your life, when you were out fucking whoever you were fucking. I want you to leave us alone. You already almost ruined my life once. Why do you want to do it again?"

More silence. This was either a one way conversation or Pam spoke to Eric when he was drunk. There wasn't a better option here.

"You can't say that. Not after everything."

Well, I'd never know if they were having a real conversation or not, but I opted not to intrude either way.

The next morning, when I couldn't sleep any longer, I got out of bed, pulled on my sweats and quietly walked past Eric, who was absolutely passed out on the couch. I made my way to the kitchen and did the crossword puzzle while I tried to figure out what to do.

After thinking it over, the first thing I did was call Stan, who responded quite positively to my call, and cheerfully said he'd be over in the afternoon. I didn't question his tone, but it did make me feel slightly better.

The next thing I did was made breakfast. A giant, traditional, bacon and eggs, with toast and hash browns breakfast, the kind Jason used to request from Gran after a night of drinking. I figured whatever talk we were going to have, and whatever subsequent talk he'd have with Stan later would be better done with a clear head, and food would help that.

I set a huge plate of food down beside him on the coffee table and sat in the chair across from him and ate mine. After a few minutes, he stirred, groaning loudly, and covering his eyes with his hand.

"Your breakfast is getting cold," I said, pointedly. "Come on. Get up. It's almost noon."

He pulled himself up, rubbing his forehead, the realities of last night setting in. "Sookie, I don't know what to say."

"In that case," I sipped my tea. "I have a few things I'd like to say."

He reached for the juice I poured for him and nodded. He looked like a completely different person. Tired, and older. Years older in one night. Sobriety looked better on him than I realized. "Okay."

I took a deep breath, needing my words to come out right. "If this is it, really it, then I'm prepared to do whatever I have to do to help you. I'll be supportive and go to meetings with you, whatever you need, but if this is the beginning of something bigger, then I'm out. Plain and simple. I don't mind signing up for a slip up now and then, because I know this is something that will always be there , but I'm not going to sit here and watch you dig yourself a hole, and then pull me down into it. I know we're having some issues, I do, but what you did last night, it's not going to help."

"I'm done. I am." His eyes caught mine, and I saw the conviction in his eyes. "I don't know. I just lost it last night. One minute I was heading back up here, and the next minute the bottle was in my hand, and I was just so frustrated with everything." His eyes went wide, and I watched, as he scrambled to his feet, and slammed the bathroom door behind him. Seconds later, it was clear that he probably couldn't hold his liquor as well as he used to be able to. Otherwise, he had been an incredibly lightweight drinker. Although he had drank of a lot of gin. But he was a big guy. I didn't know anything about how much people could drink.

I knocked on the bathroom door a few minutes later. "You okay in there?"

He opened it a minute later, kind of sweaty, and very pale. "Yea, I'm fine."

He looked terrible. I really wanted to just wrap my arms around him and squeeze him, but I refrained, firstly because I was trying to be a bit aloof, and secondly because I didn't want him throwing up on me. "Can you eat? I think you should eat something."

He gave me a half grin, while rubbing his forehead. "I used to solve this problem by having another drink. I should probably eat something."

We resumed our breakfast, after Eric got a giant glass of water. "So, what now?"

He shrugged. "I step up the meetings, I guess. I don't really know what we can do beyond that. It's not like we've solved anything on the other front. We'll have to move on, somehow."

I couldn't believe I was saying this. "I think you need to go back to New Orleans and try to figure out what happened to her. It was the one thing in your drunken state that you said that made sense. You need closure. I don't know how you'll get that, but I think you need to try."

"I don't think anything I said last night made sense." He sighed, finishing off his bacon. "Thanks for being so nice, with breakfast."

I smiled. "I read some statistics, and you were due a relapse. Ninety percent do it within five years." Truth was, I'd read a lot about alcoholics when we'd first met. Hence my supportive, but not accepting attitude towards last night. I also knew I'd do more harm than good by being too judgmental. It was a fine line, and I hoped I was doing the right things. "Do you remember talking to Pam?"

He looked at me, his eyes awash in emotion. "What?"

"I heard you, from the bedroom. Well, I heard your side of something. I assumed you were talking to her, or maybe you were just drunk."

"I remember talking to her, but I thought I was dreaming again." His eyes shifted around the room. "I was actually talking?"

I nodded. Dreaming again? "Yea. I only heard your side of things though. You were pretty angry."

"I remember being angry." He scratched his chin. "I can't really go and figure out what happened to her, can I?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. I know it sounds absurd, but we're going on months of weirdness here. We have to do something. Maybe have the case revisited? See if you can find some new evidence?"

"I never wanted to dig this all up again," He ran his fingers though his hair. "But I don't know what else to do."

I moved beside him on the couch, really unwilling to punish him any further. Shoulder to shoulder, I wrapped my hand around his. "I don't either." We were kind of out of options.


	8. Chapter 8

**So here's a tiny Pam POV. I'll post the next real chapter later...I hope you like! **

**Thanks Missus T, and everyone else that gave this a quick read!**

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**Pam**

The first time I saw Sophie she took my breath away, dropping her silky pink dressing gown in front of my studio class. The curves of her body, the pale flesh contrasted by her fiery red hair, her tiny toes stained by a bit of red polish, all of it cried out to be immortalized.

I nearly gasped when I saw the damaged innocence in her eyes. She was the perfect subject, practically born for my brush.

When Eric Northman strolled into my life, one night that hadn't stood out from any other in any way but him, for the first time I allowed myself a bit of happiness. He was everything that should have been perfect, funny, incredibly handsome, and smitten. Even at fifteen.

I loved him, with as much as my heart would give.

But there was always something missing, something wrong. There were times where I could hardly stand to have him touch me. The rough skin, the booze on his breath. It was all too much. Too familiar.

So I drank too, to numb the pain, to keep things together. Soon enough though, that wasn't enough either. There weren't enough distractions in the world to take my mind off of the past.

And believe me, I tried every distraction in the book.

When Eric was drinking, it was easy to sneak a glance here, a caress there. He never noticed, or cared when he'd wake up without me, probably because he had other things on his mind, like how he was going to fix himself up for the next night, or drag his ass out to his shop and create something.

As long as I was around at dinnertime and then happy hour, and was responsive to his advances, he was happy, it seemed.

And then one morning, I rolled over and saw a different person lying next to me. Confusion and then determination clouded his normally carefree face.

I followed him around the kitchen as he silently poured out a bar that he'd spent the last ten years putting together, stocking and restocking.

It was harder to hide myself from him after that.

I tried so hard to imagine an honest, clean life with him. And then I tried to be part of, it as much as I could, for a while. I tried to be supportive, but when I looked in the mirror, I only saw one thing.

A liar.

I tried being honest, with him and myself once, well, partly, and he hadn't taken it well. It wasn't until I had my face between Sophie's legs the next afternoon that I realized why he'd taken it so poorly.

I never told him. I let him think that it was a competition that he had a half chance of winning.

Things were different now. Now, I lived on emotion. Fear, sadness, and anger were the most powerful. The first thing I remembered in a long time was the anger Eric felt when he hit that man, Bill, on the beach. Feeling that emotion, it was like taking a deep breath in the cold, painful, yet exhilarating.

Like being reborn.

And then there was only him. And to him, there was only her.

And that hurt more than all the rest, more than anything.

I didn't hate her, quite the opposite in fact. She was lovely, with her huge blue eyes and curvy figure. She was a reminder of how things should have been with him and me, the life we could have had if the past had somehow become a bad dream instead of a reality I lived with daily. I began watching, observing, curious, unsure how the man I'd once known better than anyone or anything could be so different.

It made me feel things for the first time in as long as I could remember. Sad that I'd been unable to fill this niche in his life, angry that he'd not shown this side of himself to me. This gentleness and joy that he shared with her almost every day.

I hated when they were together, the way he'd hold her, the way he'd give her everything she wanted. The way he brushed the hair out of her face and kissed her with a tenderness I'd never felt.

I wanted to hurt them both. Make them feel the way I felt, when that rolling pin made contact with the side of my head, and everything stopped. I'd done everything I could to make them feel pain. The kind of pain I'd felt.

And then I got my Eric back, for a brief time. I sat across from him, watched him tip that gin back, hating himself a little more with every sip, and I realized that I didn't want that either.

He wasn't the one that had done this to me, turned me into the jaded, dead thing that I'd become.

That honour belonged to another.


	9. Chapter 9

**So you liked the little Pam insight? Good! We'll be seeing a bit more of her as we go on perhaps! **

**Also, I have to admit, I've had a lot of ghostly experiences...And I'd like to hear yours! If you're comfortable sharing, leave it in your review! Thanks so much for reading, and keep the love coming! **

**Thanks to Missus T, and Ethehunter...if you're not reading their fics, you totally should be!**

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**Eric**

As Sookie moved beside me and squeezed my hand, I realized that ghost Pam, although she was a huge, scary bitch at times, was incredibly weak, when compared to my wife. She was well within her rights to run for the exit.

"I called Stan. I didn't really know what else to do. He'll be by around two." She spoke quietly and looked up at me, a bit of apprehension in her eyes. "I don't want you to feel alone, and there are parts of you I'm not going to even pretend to really understand. And that's okay, because I know the parts that are important."

"I don't want to drag you down with me." I brushed a bit of hair out of her face.

"Well then don't fall, and we'll both stay up here." She wiped her eyes a little. "Don't force me to make an impossible decision. Just don't."

"Do you really think that this is the reason she's here?" I needed a bit of reassurance. This was all kind of ridiculous. The whole notion of being haunted, and Pam channeling through Niall, breaking shit, and bringing Sookie to tears while we were having sex, all of it was absurd.

"I've kind of run out of other ideas." She turned so she was facing me and tucked her leg under her. "If that Niall thing was accurate, then she seemed to blame you for what happened, in a fucked up way. I don't know how she could blame you for that."

Pam had always had a funny way of seeing things. And it wasn't always rational. "What else would you want, if you were dead?"

She thought about it. "To be alive again, I suppose, but that's not really an option. I guess revenge? Justice? To be able to come to terms with your death? Peace of a sort?"

She was right.

I couldn't live like this. In this constant state of tension with both of us afraid. Not really living. Just waiting. "I think I have to try at least."

"Then _we_ should try." She cleared the dishes, walking into the kitchen. "This isn't just affecting you, Baby. You should have a shower. Stan will be here in an hour."

I almost made a comment about her mothering me, but after my actions last night, I probably deserved it, and I did smell. I wondered how I'd never even been aware of it before. I guess I probably always smelled like that when I drank.

I peeled myself off the couch and made my way into the bathroom, brushing my teeth first, before getting in the shower. Truth was, I had no idea who'd killed Pam. Near the end, I didn't know who she was hanging around with, and I didn't really want to know. Before she died, we hadn't had sex for a month, maybe longer. I didn't know anything about her life, except that we lived under the same roof and kept opposite hours, me getting up for my early morning sobriety run, as she labeled it, and her sleeping well into the afternoon.

And she was fucking someone that scratched her, so they were probably having rough sex. And she didn't care if I knew it. I never would have helped living Pam. She was a real bitch.

But she hadn't always been. When Niall-Pam had mentioned the tattoo, I had a heart wrenching moment, remembering the two of us at that tattoo parlour weeks after we moved to New Orleans. We were both into traditional tattoos so we had no problem picking two that, while they looked very different, had very similar meanings. Safe return home. To each other. It wasn't my first by any means, but it was hers.

She was eighteen, and I was almost twenty. Almost a lifetime ago. We were so young; naive about love, and life.

"_Hold my hand," she winced, looking away, and into my eyes._

"_Don't be such a baby, Pammy." I kissed her cheek, and ran my hand over her hip. "It's going to look great."_

"_Is it going to hurt?" she whispered._

_I chuckled. "That never deterred you from anything."_

_Her lips curled up into a wicked smile. "You're right. The best things always hurt a little."_

Pam had always been into pain. It had started out quite innocently, spanking, that kind of thing, but there were times where it progressed past a point I was comfortable with.

As the water ran over me, I tried to think about anything I could that would give me insight into what had happened to Pam, and I kept coming up blank. I did remember her girlfriends, Felecia and Thalia. I hadn't talked to them since the funeral, though, when I was still a quazi suspect, and they hadn't wanted much to do with me. Before that, I was practically Pam's dad to them, the grumpy straight guy that wasn't any fun.

I had to start somewhere though.

When I got out of the shower, Sookie had left me a note on the bed letting me know that she'd gone down to help with lunch at Salty's.

I pawed through my closet and pulled out a new t-shirt and a pair of nicer jeans. I figured I might as well not look as terrible as I felt, which was pretty shitty.

Since I'd never had a slip, I wasn't sure what the procedure was, if Stan was going to yell at me, or call me an idiot, or give me a warm hug. AA was pretty non-judgmental, so I figured our meeting would be more of a chat about why I did what I did and where I thought I was going. People relapsed. It was part of the process, but I didn't want it to be a part of mine.

I liked being in control of my life.

Stan texted me, and I met him downstairs at Salty's where he was nursing a coffee with Sookie across from him. I didn't really like that they were likely discussing me, but I didn't really think I had much of a right to be angry about that. She smiled when she saw me, which I took as a good sign, stood on her tip toes and kissed my cheek as she got up. "I'll see you in a bit."

I nodded, smiling back at her. "Okay."

The lunch crowd had thinned out affording us a bit of privacy in our corner booth. Amelia came over, quite oblivious of what had happened it seemed, with a huge smile on her face. "What can I get for you boss?"

"Water and a coffee. Stan, do you want a refill?"

"Sure." He adjusted his dark glasses. "Do you have any pie?"

Amelia nodded. "Pecan and apple."

He smiled up at her. "I'll have apple then."

Pie actually sounded good. "Can I get a slice of pecan, Ames?"

She grinned. "Sure."

I had the distinct feeling that Sookie hadn't told her anything. There was no sympathy, or anger, in her voice. No one here knew about my drinking problem or Sookie's overdose. They weren't the kind of things that you told just anyone. People looked at you differently.

When she'd gone, and then come back, Stan leaned over the table. "You look like shit."

"And I feel like shit, too." I raised an eyebrow, sipping on my coffee. "I don't know what the procedure here is. What happens now?"

His eyes went wide. "You haven't slipped at all?"

I shook my head. "Not since week one."

Stan leaned back in his seat, an amused look on his face. "Shit. That's impressive. I used to slip quite often in the beginning. There was one month in year two where I fucked up like five times. After the fifth time, Isabel very gently told me to get the fuck out, and that was kind of the end of it. For the most part. There was a slip in year five too."

"So what now?"

"You get back on the wagon, or you don't. It's all in your hands. I'm not going to scold you. That's Sookie's job."

"She's been quite nice."

"I have the feeling she knows what it's like to have demons." He smiled. "What brought it on? What was your trigger?"

This was the kind of thing that I didn't like about AA. The open book sharing. I'd agreed to go into this with honesty though, and I owed him the whole story. Talking things out was part of the healing process. I was never one of those guys that gloated about my conquests. Not even when I was a kid.

"It's this ghost shit. Things have been strained with me and Sookie for a little while now because of the constant happenings, and well, we were in the middle of having sex last night, and she just started to cry, out of the middle of nowhere. She's thirty seconds from coming, she's making that face she makes that I like, and she starts bawling. Sobbing. And it was right then that I realized that this could seriously mess up our lives, and there wasn't anything I could do about it."

Stan processed my words, nodding along. "So you felt powerless and emasculated."

I shook my head. "No, just powerless when I actually thought about it. I went for a walk before I, well, did what I did. It wasn't that I wasn't doing it for her, or I suspected she was faking it or anything. That would have been worse. I'm glad she was at least honest about it." I shook my head. "I've been emasculated, and this was not that."

Stan nodded. "The last time I relapsed, was when Emma was three months old. I'd been good for a while, so we'd decided to have a second child. We really wanted a second. It was the first time Isabel had gone out after the baby and left me with both girls. Carlie was five, and I managed to get her into bed no problem. I'd just changed Emma's diaper and was getting her bottle ready when she started crying. There was no reason for her to cry. I had her food there, and she was nice and clean, she usually went to bed around that time. She just didn't stop, for hours and hours. It was so stressful, not having Isabel there to laugh about it with, or troubleshoot, so I reached high into the cupboard and pulled out the dustiest bottle of Crown Royal that someone had given us as a wedding present that had been forgotten by everyone but me when we dried out the house. It was a bit of a safety blanket, I figured."

"I never had a safety blanket."

Stan snorted and rolled his eyes. "You live above a well stocked bar, which you own. Before that, I'm sure you knew where the liquor store was. Of course you did. Anyway, to make a long story short, I got drunk, got the baby to stop crying, by perfectly sound methods, and then got kicked out of my house for a month."

"Then what?"

"I begged Isabel to take me back, and eventually she did. And that was that."

"So you never think you'll drink again?"

He shook his head. "I didn't say that, but it'll be a bad scene if I do, and really, I'm not sure she'd take me back again. She's also kind of my muse, so I'd have a lot to lose. I write like shit hungover too, so I think it's unlikely that I'll drink again."

"I used to build really wild things when I was drunk. Some of my best pieces, artsy people said. They weren't functional though." A slanted table, a dresser with no drawers, that kind of thing. People liked it more as art than furniture. "The stuff I make now actually sells."

"My writing drunk goes a lot like this: 'and then something happened, and then some more stuff happened.' Absolute garbage." He laughed. "It's funny. You know it gets better, but it's still so easy to slip sometimes."

"I won't do it again."

Stan shook his head. "Don't say that with such certainty. When you do that, you're setting yourself up for failure. One day at a time."

I decided to change the subject, slightly. "So, I think I need to figure out what happened to Pam. I think that's the only way it's going to stop."

We both watched as the salt shaker, followed by the pepper one tipped over, moved my some unknown force. Stan shook his head. "Shit man, you know, I write about this shit all the time, but I've never seen or heard of it happening to anyone for real."

"It's real. Believe me." I glanced around, happy that Salty's was quite empty, although a haunted restaurant would probably be quite a draw in it's own way.

"Oh, I believe you." He righted both shakers. "You need to get some paranormal investigators in here and shit. Like those guys on TV."

"I've had the aura reader, and the witch, and the seer. We held a séance in my living room. What are they going to tell me that I don't know? Apparently I talked to her when I was drunk last night. I told Sookie that I needed to figure out what happened to her, after I'd drank the better part of a bottle of gin." Crap gin, at that. What a waste of a relapse. I should have had scotch.

"Well let's figure it out then. I love a good mystery."

And with that, a new plan was hatched. Stan, who had nothing but time on his hands until his book got back from editing and he had to make corrections, would help me do internet research for the rest of the summer. Once business slowed down here, in the fall, we would go do some research in New Orleans and put this crime to bed.

The best way a writer and a master carpenter could, anyway. We decided to meet weekly, to discuss our progress.

When Stan went home for supper, I made my way upstairs with a pizza for dinner and found Sookie washing the clothes I'd worn last night, along with the blanket from the couch. She glanced up at me as I walked in the room. "Hey."

I sat down on the couch and pulled her down next to me. I had to ask. "Hey. Listen, are we okay? Is there anything you'd like to talk about, anything you'd like to ask?"

She bit her lip. "How was your talk with Stan?"

"Good. Helpful." I couldn't exactly tell her that he'd relapsed a few times. "It was good to talk to someone that's struggled at times as well."

"I thought it might be. I'd love to talk to someone that was like me." She gave me a half smile. Our problems were very different

"I think we're going to look into Pam's murder, via the internet, and then maybe go down to New Orleans in the fall and see what we can find. I have a few of her friends that I should talk to. They'd probably know who she was hanging around, and they probably don't hate me anymore, now that they know I didn't kill her."

"Well that's good then." Sookie cracked a grin. "That sounds like a good project. Maybe Pam will fuck off for a bit if you're trying to help." She looked out into the living room. "Hear that Pam? Is this what you want?"

Silence. Nothing moved, nothing broke. "She knocked over the salt and pepper shakers downstairs a little while ago."

"I haven't felt her since last night." Sookie raised her eyebrows. "Maybe that was what she wanted."

I shrugged. "I guess we'll find out, won't we."

It was two uneventful, awkward weeks before we got up the courage to try and have sex again.

One evening, after dinner we sat on opposite ends on the couch, Sookie's hands clasped rather tightly in her lap. "How's the Pam research going?"

I shrugged. "I've been emailing back and forth with a couple of her friends. It was awkward at first, but they seem eager to help." I never liked them much, when Pam was friends with them. They were real party girls, friends she'd picked up shortly after I'd sobered up. "I don't know how much they actually know, but they had some ideas anyway. It's hard to look into too much here."

Sookie leaned back on the couch, and stretched her arms along the back of it. "Look. Are we just going to not have sex until this problem is solved, because if that's the case, we should probably at least agree that that's what we're doing."

I reached over and grabbed her arm on the back of the couch and pulled her onto my lap. "I don't want to do that."

"Well I don't want to do that either." She sat back on her heels on my lap. "But I don't know what choice we have. I don't want to upset you, and I can't guarantee that I won't. I can't exactly control the ghost of your dead wife here, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I know, and I know." I thought about it as I ran my hand over her hip, settling on her lower back. "I don't know what we do here. I guess I can just not get upset."

Sookie looked at me, deadpan. "You can just not get upset when I start crying while you're trying to get me off."

She had a point. It had been quite upsetting. I never wanted to make her cry, least of all when we were involved like that. "I don't know. Neither option sounds good."

"We could just try." She gave me a half smile. "And then I could not let you out of my sight for the rest of the night. It's already been awful. It can't be any more awful than that."

That was true, and I really wanted her. We'd never gone two weeks. "I really want to fuck you."

She looked up, and then smiled at me. "We said we weren't going to let this ruin our lives. I think we have to try."

I really wanted to try. And succeed. That too.

I picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around my waist, two weeks of tension threatening to result in us both exploding. She fisted my hair as she pulled my mouth to hers and I deposited her on the bed before I moved on top of her.

I wanted things to just be like they usually were. We were so good together. I thought back to all the things Pam had done to try and spice things up, add to the experience, but with Sookie we didn't need any aids, or anything but each other for it to be fantastic. It just was.

Suddenly, she stopped, and I rolled off of her. "She's here," she whispered, sitting up, her shirt half undone.

"Oh." I stretched out on the bed and pulled my pants up.

"But she's not angry, or sad, or anything. She's just, well, she's watching." She glanced at me, before unbuttoning the rest of her shirt.

I narrowed my eyes at her. "What are you doing?"

She gave me a wicked grin. "She wants a show? We'll give her one."

"We're just going to pretend she's not there?" I glanced around the room.

"Pretend she's here, pretend she's not. I don't care what you do, as long as you take your pants off." She straddled my lap and went for my belt.

I shrugged, slightly concerned that I'd have performance issues, but all that faded away as Sookie eased her mouth over my cock. "Oh fuck," I hissed as she wrapped her hand around the part of me that didn't fit in her mouth.

She smiled up at me, well as much as she could smile in her present position. Fuck, she was amazing, I thought to myself and not just because of the great head that I was on the receiving end of.

I was close to done when she moved up and sat in my lap, her eyes twinkling. "Hey."

"Hi there." I ran my fingers though her hair, and kissed her hard, as her hand guided me inside of her.

As we both grew close to climaxing, it was obvious that Pam was trying hard to get a reaction, although not like she had last time. The whole room smelled like her. Sookie and I exchanged a glance, but neither of us let on that anything was going on, other than what was going on between us.

"I'm close," she whispered, seconds before I felt her pulse around me, sending me over the edge.

I came, harder than I could remember coming in ages, my hands squeezing Sookie's hips as she took me to the hilt.

We both let out a sigh, probably of relief, and she crawled off me before flopping down beside me on the bed. "I think we needed that."

She was right. After everything we had needed to reconnect. We'd done it in a lot of ways, but that was the final step. "We did." I kissed her neck. "I love you."

"I love you so much," she whispered back, making no attempt to cover herself before rolling on her side. I loved her naked; the curve of her hip, the soft flesh on her stomach, the way her breasts sat on her chest.

"So, our first paranormal threesome. Was it as good for you Pam, as it was for us?" I said, half joking.

"This is weird, but I think she's sorry about what she did, upsetting you like she did," Sookie whispered. "I don't know why, but I feel like she is. She's just got a weird way of expressing herself."

That was Pam in a nutshell.

After a while, we got up and cleaned up, brushing our teeth together naked, before crawling back into bed. Sookie rolled over and pressed her body against mine, sighing softly, as I wrapped an arm around her waist. It wasn't the best sex we'd ever had, but it was a good start after everything that had happened. I glanced out of the corner of my eye, half convinced I saw Pam standing there with an expression I couldn't read on her face.

I closed my eyes tight, like some child terrified of the monster in my closet, willing her to vanish, and not just for the short term. When I opened them again, she was gone.

But her scent remained.


	10. Chapter 10

***turns on the flashlight* So here we go, another chapter! Thanks so much for taking the time to read this...It's been fun, stretching my paranormal legs a bit! Anyway, keep the feedback coming, and let me know what you think is going on! I'm dying to know what you think!**

**Thanks to Missus T and Ethehunter!**

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**Sookie**

I slept late the next morning, and when I pulled myself out of bed Eric was gone, but he'd left me a sweet note and a plate of waffles warming in the oven. I pulled on a pair of his boxers and a tanktop and took my breakfast out on my deck and ate it quietly. It was one of those perfect solitary moments, the kind people rarely took the time to appreciate.

With all the noise in my life, I appreciated them.

Although I'd done it last night, the idea of a threesome with Eric's dead ex wife every night was unappealing. It felt like putting on a show. I mean, I loved sleeping with him, I did. God, did I ever, but this had to stop.

I tried to piece together what the trigger was for her appearance, and the only thing I could come up with was Bill. It had all started when I had my panic attack, when Bill came to town.

But Pam and Bill had nothing in common besides being our exes. They didn't know each other, well, as far as I knew, and I'd known Bill for years, since high school. I figured either Eric or I would have known if there was a connection there.

We hadn't exactly travelled in similar circles, geographically or otherwise.

There was always an answer though, for everything. The universe wasn't terribly random, no matter what your thoughts on higher powers were. A reason for everything, all things in their places, and all of that.

I drifted off to sleep out there, the sun warm on my legs.

_And then I was somewhere else. A place I'd never been. I looked around, and the first thing I noticed was the dust. It was everywhere, covering every surface._

_No one had been here in a long time, I thought to myself, tracing my finger over a dresser, drawing a shiny line on the dull surface._

"_He hurt you." I knew the accusing voice in the next room. Eric. I quickly walked out of the room I was in, down a narrow hall, and found myself standing in a doorway to another room, this one cleaner, and brighter._

"_It's not the first time." A girl on the bed looked up at a boy not much older._

_Eric. But not my Eric. A younger version, with the same troubled eyes I'd been seeing recently._

"_What did he do?" he asked gently, wiping the tears away from her eyes, kneeling in front of her while she pulled her knees up to her chest and looked down at him._

_She took a deep breath, and I could sense her fear, her revulsion, her concern about the impact of her words. Still, she spoke with determination, "He does what you do, but I don't want him to."_

_I stood back, away from the door unnoticed, as he stood to his full height and punched the wall, leaving an indent. I could sense his revulsion, but then something stronger. Anger._

_He raised an eyebrow at her. "I'll kill him."_

_She wrestled with his words for a few seconds, before curling up on the bed and pulling the covers around her. "I can't go back," she whispered._

"_You'll stay here. My parents won't even notice."_

"_He'll notice."_

"_He won't touch you again," he swore, his hands still balled up in fists. "And you won't go back there."_

I jumped, as I felt a familiar hand on my knee. "You fell asleep, Lover. You're looking a bit crispy."

I glanced up at my Eric, hot and sweaty, with his t-shirt tucked in the back pocket of his jeans. "Oh," I sat up, and wiped my eyes, trying to grasp on to what I could remember from my dream. "I didn't realize."

I'd never noticed the weight of the years on his face before, I guess because I'd never seen the earlier version, before he abused his body and mind for years and years. "Come inside with me. I'm going to take a break."

I let him pull me to my feet. "Thanks for the waffles."

He smiled. "And thanks for last night."

"So the waffles were a tip, for last night?" I winked at him, leaning into his arm around my shoulder.

"Absolutely. I always tip in waffles." He smiled, looking lighter than I'd seen him look in weeks.

I sat down at the kitchen table while he washed his hands in the kitchen sink. "What are you staining?"

His back was turned to me, and the smell of the lavender soap I kept by the sink filled the room. "Kitchen table for an order that I've been slacking on."

I suddenly realized what I needed to do. It had never been clearer. "Tell me everything about Pam."

He turned around, and his face dropped as his eyes met mine. I'd hit a nerve, from the look in his eyes. "What?"

"I want to know about her. I think we're missing something important. Maybe we just need to talk it out."

He pursed his lips and then sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything." I'd never asked about her before, really, concerned about upsetting him, pulling him back to the past. However, this was now affecting our future. "Eric, we've really got to get to the bottom of this."

He sat down, and put his head in his hands. "It's hard to talk about."

"I'd do whatever I needed to do to keep you safe, even from yourself." I furrowed my brow. "I need you to start talking. We need to figure this out. You know we do."

He started talking, and once he started, he didn't stop. He just kept going, starting with the first time he saw her, to her horrible step-dad, and finally to his own shortcomings when it came to her, how he didn't really listen to what she said most of the time, and took her for granted.

"There was nothing I could do about any of it. Not really." He looked down at his hands and picked at a scab. "I almost ended up in juvie after I broke a couple of that bastard's ribs. I tried taking her away from it, as soon as I could afford it, but nothing was ever enough to make it right. Her real dad threw this huge wedding for us, and we tried to start new, but there was always something behind her eyes. Eventually, it became hard to look at her. Not to say that's why I drank, but it didn't exactly make sobering up appealing."

"I dreamt about her," I whispered.

He furrowed his brow. "When?"

"Just now, when I was asleep outside."

"I've dreamt about her, too." I knew he had. It wasn't the kind of thing one told their wife though. Hey, by the way, honey, while I was laying beside you, I was dreaming about my dead wife. "Did she tell you to ask me about her?"

I shook my head. "No. I dreamt I was watching the two of you when you were kids. Teenagers."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh."

"I don't know what any of it meant. She was telling you about her stepdad."

"So we know she had a shitty step-dad. I already knew that, and I don't know what that has to do with her murder." He rubbed his temples.

I glanced at his knuckles, lined with tiny scars, having obviously punched a wall or two. "No chance her step-dad murdered her, is there?" That seemed way too obvious.

He shook his head. "Nope. He died of lung cancer the year before she died. He deserved worse for what he did to her for all those years." I tried to imagine the effect of knowing that happened to his girlfriend would have on a sixteen year old boy, and I couldn't, not really.

"I don't know then. Can you think of anything significant?" I put my feet in his lap, smiling slightly as he rubbed them. I shivered internally, as his mood darkened. I couldn't read auras, but he wasn't going anywhere good in his head. Nowhere I wanted to follow. I wasn't good at blocking Eric out, because I'd never really had to.

"I don't know. She was seeing someone according to Felecia, but she didn't ever meet the person." His face fell again. "She said she seemed really happy before her death, in that respect."

I got up and curled up in his lap, relishing in his warm breath on my cheek, as I nuzzled his face, trying to distract him, even slightly. "Come on. Don't get all depressed over this. Please."

"I wish I'd paid more attention, that's all." He brushed his lips over my cheek. "And now I feel powerless to change this situation. It's like I can't win."

I sighed, knowing what he meant by feeling powerless. "I love you, Eric Northman, and we'll figure this out."

As if on cue, Eric's cell phone rang. I reached across the table hand handed it to him. He glanced at the caller and answered it. "Hey Stan. Yea, I'm around. Come by whenever." He hung up, looking indifferent. "He said he found out something interesting about Pam's case."

My eyes lit up. "Well that could be good news."

"I don't know what he would have found that I didn't already know about," he grumbled.

I glared at him a little, before getting up off his lap, burned by his negative emotions. "Really, don't. We really don't need any more negativity around here."

He looked over at me, his eyes cold. "I'm sorry. It's kind of hard to stay positive."

"Well, try a bit harder." I put my hands on my hips. "If not for you, then for me."

"Says the empath to the alcoholic." He gave a little shrug. "Maybe he'll have figured something out."

I returned his shrug. His negative attitude was making me ill, almost physically. Instead of sticking around like I might have in the past, I did what was right for me. I went in our room and got dressed. "I'm going for a walk."

I'd just put my sandals on when I felt his hands on my hips. "Let's not fight about this. Please."

I turned around and looked at him critically. "You're making this really hard for me."

"I know. And I'm sorry about that." I knew he was, but it didn't really matter. Not at the moment. "I made you something."

"I don't really need a present at the moment." I needed him to go back to being old Eric, instead of this new version, torn between the past and the present.

He looked at me, his uncertainty foreign. "Well come see it anyway, and then go for your walk. I'll speak with Stan downstairs so you have the house to yourself for a while."

Space. Yea, I needed some of that. "Thank you."

"Let's not do this again. Talk about her like this," his voice cracked. "It's too hard."

"I can't promise that. We might have to." I bit my lip, trying to keep his sadness from engulfing me. "I have to go. I'm going to go down to the beach, and I'll give you a call. Meet me in a bit?" Hopefully he would have pulled himself together by then.

He nodded. "I'll come down after I talk to Stan." I leaned into him, as he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. "I'm sorry."

I knew it wasn't something he could help, not really, but he had to. "Why don't you take that negative energy and use it to come up with a solution here? Don't be sorry. That's not helping anything either." I wiped my eyes. "Seriously, I wish you could feel for three seconds what it feels like to me when you feel like that."

I was better at controlling how I processed things than I had been, but it still did a number on my head, trying to sort everything out.

"I don't think I'd handle it as well as you do." He kissed my forehead. "See you in a couple of hours."

**Eric**

Fuck, I hated hurting her. It was especially hard though, because she didn't get hurt like other people did. Things needed to be resolved for her to feel better, which seemed damn near impossible.

Telling her about Pam had felt really odd, like a betrayal of sorts even after all this time. We'd kept what happened to her all those years before between us. They were our secrets, mine and Pam's. It didn't feel right sharing them. Even with Sookie. Nothing had ever felt better than unloading my fists into that old pervert's face. How her own mother ignored it for years, I'd never know.

She'd never wanted to talk to anyone about how she felt, instead opting to do what I'd later found she did best, avoid, avoid, avoid. I didn't fight her on it, because really, as selfish was it was it was easier for me if she didn't get into things too much. When we discussed anything related to her childhood, it usually resulted in me getting angry, almost irrationally so, and Pam withdrawing into an incredibly dark place for days and days.

Hindsight was really 20/20 when it came to seeing our issues. We were fucked, probably from the beginning.

But damned if I hadn't loved her, in all her damaged, imperfect glory.

I sat down at the kitchen table, and realized that I needed to find out what had happened to her. I had all along. I'd been so numb, from the realization of losing her twice over at the time of her death, that I'd folded before I should have, let go when I should have looked for resolution. For both of us.

When I met Stan about twenty minutes later downstairs, he was practically bursting from excitement. "So, De Castro is running for governor of Louisiana."

I shook my head. "Who?"

"Felipe De Castro." He looked at me like I was an idiot. "Remember, your wife was found in the back yard of a piece of property he owned?"

"Right." I'd forgotten most of the details of that. "He was cleared right away. Home with his wife at the time of death. The story was corroborated by several people from his law firm."

"From _his_ law firm." Stan raised an eyebrow, his overactive imagination going into overdrive before my very eyes. "Of course they confirmed his story."

"I'm not sure how this is helpful."

Stan rolled his eyes at me. "We can draw attention to this again, because he's moving into the public sphere of interest. I've already written an anonymous letter to the editor of The Times-Picayune asking how anyone could ever consider voting for someone that had a murder committed on their property and didn't care if it was solved. A lawyer, for that matter." He smiled. "I expect it'll be picked up by some other papers, too."

I raised my eyebrows, impressed. "Wow. You've been busy."

He smiled, wiping his glasses on the front of his shirt. "It was easy. A piece of cake. I will need you to sign the rights over to me though. I'm absolutely writing a book based loosely on your experiences. If it goes anywhere, I'll buy you dinner."

I didn't care about book royalties, if that was what Stan was worried about. "Fine. It'll have to be lobster though. And not here. I eat here too much." I smiled, genuinely, for the first time in a while. This was progress. If we could get people to look at the case again, it might help solve it, or at least give us some leads to go on. "So what now?"

He thought about it. "I think we monitor the fallout carefully, and then go from there. See what this de Castro has to say about it. Maybe I'll post on a few websites too."

We said goodbye, and I wandered down to the beach. On the half hour walk, I thought about, oddly enough, the first time I'd kissed Sookie.

_She'd been in New Orleans for a week, and we'd spent a great deal of that time together walking around and talking about everything. Well, most things. She was staying in this beautiful inn in the French Quarter not far from my old house. I'd booked it for her when she told me she was thinking about coming, knowing that it was on a quiet side street and she liked quiet. We stood together at the front door, hand in hand._

_It was almost like dating someone in junior high again, both of us nervous about making a move. Trying to shuffle the fragile pieces of our hearts around to see if there was room for another person in there._

"_Do you want to come up?" she asked hesitantly, clearing her throat. "I mean, to see the room? It's really lovely."_

_I did, and I wanted a hell of a lot more than that. But I knew we weren't there yet. I liked her, a lot. I'd liked her before we'd even spoken on the phone. But now that she was here, it was really so much more than that. I felt a sense of peace with her that I'd never felt before. She was comfort, warmth, maybe even happiness. "Yea, I'll come up for a minute."_

_We walked past the front desk, and the teenager working shot us a knowing look as we ascended the ornate staircase. A few minutes later, she turned the key in the lock on third door on the left. "Thanks for picking this place for me. It's really perfect."_

_I smiled, thinking how very perfect she was. "No problem. I walked by this place a lot when I used to live around here."_

_She hopped on the high bed with the rich burgundy brocade bedspread, her feet nowhere near touching the ground. "So, I'm really glad that I decided to come meet you. You're really great."_

_I moved a little closer to her, and she reached out, pulling me even closer, until I was standing between her knees. "I feel like I've known you forever."_

_Her eyes twinkled up at me. "And I think I'd like to know you forever." She shook her head. "Sorry, that was a weird thing to say. We haven't even kissed. Maybe we'll have no chemistry. But you know, even if we don't, I'd still like to know you forever."_

_I leaned down, brushing her lips with mine. The sparks were palpable. She pulled one of her hands out of mine and put it around the back of my neck, pulling my face to hers again, a bit harder this time. Yep, there was no concern about chemistry, that was for sure._

I smiled to myself, thinking of how we'd spent the next few hours, exploring the feelings we had for one another, which certainly extended beyond platonic.

When I found her on the beach a little while later, I figured my head was in a better spot. The smile on her face as I approached her let me know that she agreed. "Hey."

I sat beside her on the rocky beach. "What are you reading?"

"The Time Traveler's Wife. You think we have issues." She snorted, closing the book and turning towards me, a knowing look on her face. "You're better."

I smiled at her, her hair windblown, and her face a bit red from all the sun she'd gotten today. She'd never looked better, almost like an oasis in the desert. "Yea, I think I am."

I proceeded to tell her about Stan's news, and she nodded along, a smile on her face.

"That sounds very promising." She looked up at me with new hope. I stood, and helped her up, and we brushed the sand off each other's backs. "So you're still planning a New Orleans trip in October?"

I nodded. "Yea, I guess you won't be able to come, huh?"

She shook her head. "Not for more than a weekend. I'll be teaching then."

"Will you be okay here, on your own?" I hadn't thought of that.

"Oh yea. I think Pam is your problem." She grinned. "And in turn, our problem, but I don't think she's going to haunt me without you around."

"I didn't just mean with Pam." True, Pam had been our biggest problem, but she was not our only problem. "With being back in school and being in charge of things here."

She nodded. "Right. Yea, I can handle it. If I can't, I'll make Amelia handle it."

We walked home hand in hand, her ultra girly beach bag slung over my shoulder.

When we got to the door to our house, Sookie stopped and looked at me. "I think we should go stay somewhere else tonight. We need a night off."

I nodded. "Can you feel her?"

She shook her head. "No, but I don't want to tonight either. I just want you and me."

"What if she finds us?"

Sookie shook her head. "I think she'll get the hint. I hope she will, anyway." We turned and walked down the stairs. "Besides, I think being where she always seems to be is affecting us too."

She was probably right. "Where do you want to go?"

"Rose Eden Cottages? They're really cute."

Where Bill had stayed? Negative. "No. Let's do a B and B. Coachstop Inn offered me a deal if I put their brochures up in Salty's."

"Deal."

We checked in just in time to watch the sun set from our room. "Everything seems so simple, when it's not complicated." Sookie giggled, as we dug into our scallop dinner.

"Truer words have never been spoken." I smiled, feeding her a huge scallop, and exhaling slightly as she groaned, chewing it with her eyes closed.

She grinned over at me, a bit of butter on the corner of her mouth. "Have I mentioned lately that I love living here?"

I reached over and wiped it off with my thumb"No."

She smiled, before pushing our plates aside. "Well, I do. Despite everything. And you're still the best man I've ever known, even if you're flawed. Maybe it's because you're flawed."

She was right, for whatever reason Pam left us alone that night and let us step out of our heads for the evening and simply enjoy each other's company.

The next night, however, was a completely different story.


	11. Chapter 11

**Okay, first off, thanks so much for your kind comments on the last chapter. You guys are such a fab audience! I hope you're enjoying this little genre bender as much as I'm enjoying writing it.**

**Secondly, I'm away until Saturday night, so this is the last update of 2010 for me. I actually can't believe how much I've written this year, looking back on it. It's kind of shocking.**

**Thanks Missus T and Ethehunter!**

* * *

**Sookie**

I lay my head on Eric's back, as he piggybacked me back up to our house after a much needed night away. "That was a good night." I grinned, as he dumped me on the couch.

"And nothing is moved here." Eric looked around. "I think we're good."

"Did Stan email you a link to his letter?" We'd both turned off our phones for the night.

Eric switched on his phone. "Yep." He curled up beside me, and we read it, a smile spreading across both of our faces. "Damn, he's good."

"He is a professional writer." I smiled. "I'm interested to see what comes of it."

"I'm sure Stan's right, it will draw some more attention to the case." He grinned, still happy from last night.

We'd had a great night. Great sex, punctuated by talking, and not about Pam, for the first time in what seemed like ages. We talked about things he wanted to build and how he hoped to keep the restaurant busy through the winter, enough to be able to open for brunch on the weekends, and I told him about the kids that would be in my first grade classroom in the fall. The things we'd been glossing over, ignoring for Pam.

"I need to go get school supplies today." It was one of my favourite parts of being a teacher. Picking things up for my classroom. "I'm going to go set it up next week."

Eric's eyes lit up. "Wait a minute. Don't move."

I sat on the couch, and a few minutes later, he reappeared, with something behind his back. "What's this?"

He pulled out a beautiful, little mahogany box, finger-joined, with a wooden hinge. "I made it for your desk. It's a pencil case."

I turned it over in his hands, and smiled at the child-like carving on the bottom. "Eric hearts Sookie."

"He does. Very much." He grinned. "Do you like it?"

"I love it." I looked up at him, running my fingers over the letters. "I'm always amazed at the stuff you make. You're incredibly talented."

"I have lots of inspiration." He lifted the lid. "There's a false bottom, so you can hide things in there. I if you needed your meds, then you could have them on hand without being too obvious." He slid his finger along the bottom and popped it off, revealing a tiny space underneath. "Or a love letter, or whatever else you wanted to stash."

"Can we stash Pam in there?" I smiled, setting the box on the table.

"I wish we could." He waggled his eyebrows.

I spent the rest of the day picking up all the things I needed for back to school, including some new clothes for me, and a pile of stickers for my kids, pens, pencils, decorations for my room, and a million other things. After dropping my supplies off, I headed home and met Eric for dinner downstairs.

"Are you back in Mrs. Northman mode?" He grinned, sliding over in the booth that we'd claimed as ours.

"Maybe. I'll have to show you my new ruler later." I winked.

"Oh, I think I might like to see that." He growled. "Don't tease a man with a teacher fantasy."

I tucked that tidbit away in my fantasies to play out later pile. "What's the dinner special tonight?"

"Lobster quiche with a side salad. I already ordered some calamari." He sipped on his iced tea.

"Sounds fantastic."

We ate up and chatted with Amelia and Lafayette for a bit before heading back upstairs. I spent the rest of my evening writing up lessons plans for the first few weeks of school, and Eric spent some time emailing back and forth with Stan, and some other people he knew in New Orleans, about Pam. As expected, Stan's letter had caused quite a reaction.

I went to bed about an hour after Eric, crawling in and pulling his arm around me like I always did. He mumbled an 'I love you,' and I smiled to myself, kissing his cheek, before rolling over.

_Sometime later, I found myself looking up at a bright figure who was looking down at me. _

"_You're Pam," I whispered._

"_In the flesh, or something like that anyway." She winked, and I smiled, realizing that the pictures that I'd seen of her didn't really do her justice. She was beautiful, with long blond hair and a petite figure, far more petite than mine. "Come with me."_

_I examined her face, which had an odd glow to it. "Why am I dreaming about you now?"_

_She looked at me deadpan. "Would you prefer me rattling chains and throwing your pictures around? I already got your attention, and you're less obtuse than our husband." She glanced at a sleeping Eric._

_I climbed out of bed and took her hand, and together we walked through my living room and out into the parking lot, and further, into the vacant lot next door which was covered in thick grass. Pam gestured to the ground. "Sit," she said, her voice slightly playful._

"_Why are you here?"_

_She rolled her eyes. "Bla, bla, unfinished business, bla. They won't let you move on until you've let go of all your earthly attachments."_

_I narrowed my eyes at her. "Eric is mine now. You need to let him go."_

_She laughed, a deep hearty laugh. "Oh, Sookie, I'm not holding onto him. It's much more than that. Much deeper."_

"_Well why don't you just tell us how to get you the hell out of here?"_

"_Now where's the fun in that?" She winked. "There's some sort of rule that when you're dead you have to be mysterious. I broke enough rules when I was alive for several lifetimes, but I don't have any choice about this one."_

"_No hints, no nothing?"_

"_I've been giving you and Eric hints." She looked at me for a moment. "In fact, here's a big one."_

_I gasped, as she leaned over and kissed me, and not just a peck, a full on kiss with tongue. I pulled away. "What are you doing?"_

_She held my face in her hands. "Come on, Sookie. It's a dream; you might as well enjoy it."_

_Apparently dream Sookie was far more flexible than real Sookie. "Well, okay."_

_We made out for a while, her soft hands running up and down my arms, and moving through my hair. Finally she pulled away._

"_Wow," I whispered, reeling from the emotions that she'd invoked._

"_Hint," she whispered back. "You're on the right track."_

_I cocked my head at her. "How so?"_

_All around me, in an instant, the plants curled up and died. My eyes darted around, finding Pam, who looked incredibly sad. "It's time for you to go."_

"_You have to stay here?" This was a cold, dead place now, a contrast to how it had looked mere minutes earlier._

"_I do," she said with a sigh."And you wonder why I spend so much time at your place."_

_I smiled. "You're not really welcome at our place, you know."_

_Now she narrowed her eyes at me. "I don't have anywhere else to go. He was always home to me, Sookie, even when you wouldn't have given him a second look, when he was so fucked up that he didn't know what his name was, for days and days."_

"_I take good care of him."_

"_Better than I ever did." She nodded towards our house. "Go. I'll be seeing you."_

"_I'd prefer not." I stood up, a bit horrified by the transformation of the landscape around me. "We're trying to help. Please don't mess with Eric. He's working really hard to stay sober."_

_Pam snorted. "Good luck with that."_

I woke up gasping for air, and found Eric, sprawled out on his back, taking up far more than his share of the bed. "Wake up," I hissed.

He grumbled, before opening his eyes. "What?"

"Your dead wife was, or is, a great kisser."

He rubbed his eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I dreamt about her again, and we had a little chat. She kissed me, and she said it was a hint."

He sat up, still groggy, his voice rough. "So you made out with ghost Pam. I don't know if I should be freaked out, or turned on."

I shook my head. "I don't know why I let her kiss me. I don't swing that way."

"All in the name of solving the mystery? That's dedication, darling." Eric smirked at me. "So this kiss, was it long?"

"Yea. And there was tongue."

He suddenly looked more concerned. "Where?"

I smacked his arm. "In my mouth, idiot."

His mouth turned up into a wide grin. "Of course."

"She said it was a hint."

"Tongue is a hint?"

"I think she meant the kissing. Was Pam into women?"

Eric shook his head. "Not that I recall. I probably would have tried to take full advantage if she was."

I smacked him in the arm. "Come on. So no inclination that she was into women at all?

He shrugged. "No. We had a pretty good sex life. I never thought she was lacking anything. If she was, she didn't let on."

I tried to word what I was going to say next as carefully as I could, as to not imply anything about alcoholic Eric and his relationship. "But you didn't even realize that she was cheating on you until you saw physical evidence. Is it possible that you missed this too?"

He thought about it. "I don't know. How would I possibly pick up on that?"

I had never told Eric about my funny great-uncle or my cousin Hadley. It had never seemed relevant, but I remember it being one time that my sensitivity had been useful, because I'd alerted Gran to the problem, and she'd caught them in the act, dispelling him from all of our lives, ending it, before he'd moved on to me.

I'd felt what he felt, and even as a small child, I knew it was only a matter of time.

Again, I tried to be delicate, thinking back on Hadley's life, before she died of a drug overdose about a year before my attempt at numbing a different kind of pain. "So she was molested by her step-dad. Did you ever feel like she didn't really want you touching her?"

He shook his head. "No." He thought about it for a minute. "But I wasn't really probably looking for it. Like I said, we had a pretty good sex life."

I looked at him, deadpan. He was not holding something back. "I think you're not telling me everything."

He groaned, and flicked on the bedside lamp. "Do I really need to tell you all about my sex life with my dead wife? Do you really think that's going to be helpful?"

"Well she seemed to think it would be." I crossed my arms over my chest. How bad could it be?

He furrowed his brow at me. "I don't want you to think badly of me, or think anything is lacking with you and I, because I don't feel like it is."

I pulled myself up against the headboard, instantly feeling insecure. I tried to cover it. "Why would I feel like that? Your dead wife is the only problem with our sex life. Really, I don't want to think about it at all, but like I said, she seemed to think it was important." Seriously, I felt a bit like we'd both lost our minds with this ghost stuff, taking dreams as gospel.

What other choice did we have though?

Eric took a deep breath, and avoided eye contact. "She liked distractions. Being tied up, blindfolded. She liked it a bit rough. I don't know. I hardly think getting into specifics is going to help you and I any."

Yea, that was all I really needed to hear. I'd deal with how that made me feel later. Again, I tried to say the next part gently, because it wasn't what anyone would have ever wanted to hear. "Okay, so do you think since she was asking for all of those things, there was a chance that she was trying to avoid remembering what it felt like when someone else did the things that you were doing to her?"

Eric looked like he was going to throw up. I watched as the colour drained from his face. "Oh my God. I never thought of that at all. I just thought I was giving her what she wanted."

We sat there quietly for a while. Finally, I turned to look at him, the colour still gone from his face. I patted his hand, unsure of what to say. "Let's just go back to bed, okay? We can talk more about this tomorrow."

He nodded, rolling away from me. "Yea, that's probably a good idea."

I felt a bit bad about his forced confession, because it clearly made him uncomfortable. However, felt like it was an important thing to figure out though, since we were sort of looking for her last lover. That kind of opened up the field a bit.

He didn't say much the next morning or really into the afternoon either. We sort of worked around each other while we went about our day, making coffee, helping out at lunch at Salty's. It wasn't until about 2 p.m., when Eric had wandered over to his shop that Lafayette pulled me aside.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" He shook his head. "It's like he's somewhere else. Is he confused about his sexuality? God, please tell me it's that." Lafayette grinned at me. He had a major crush on Eric, that Eric was totally oblivious to.

Huh.

I shook my head, not wanting to get into this with Lafayette. "He was just up late."

He smiled at me. "Is that ghost bitch still bothering you? Breakin' shit and takin' names?"

I wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not. "Yea, kind of."

He snorted. "She's insatiable."

It was my turn to snort. "You can say that again."

When lunch was done, I went upstairs, leaving Eric to whatever project he was working on, which seemed to involve an axe of some sort. I felt sad, for both of them, ghost Pam and him. The whole situation was fucking sad. It was sad that she was dead. Sad that she'd had such a shit childhood, and it was sad that really neither of them had known each other at all, at least not at the end.

I knew Eric's need to be the protector, to make things right, and there were times when it was almost smothering. However, we were both of clear minds now, and I could take care of myself most of the time and usually called him out on it when it was too much. I was sure things were very different for them, since Pam probably really had needed protection for a while and then had come into her own later.

One thing was for sure. They made my serious issues with Bill seem like child's play.

I tidied up the house and finalized a few lesson plans, and when Eric came up around six, most of the surfaces in the house were clean enough to see my reflection in.

He looked over at me, his face still heavy when he walked in the door. "Hey."

I gave him the best smile I could muster. "Hey, you."

For one of the first times, I was actually glad I was able to tell how he was feeling, because it allowed me to respond somewhat sensitively. He sat down on the couch, and I brought him a Coke. "Thanks."

He was sad. Really sad. And conflicted. I guess that was a pretty big thing not to know about someone you'd spent a decade with. "I don't think she wanted to hurt you," I whispered, holding his hand, stroking his palm with my thumb.

He shook his head at me. "It wasn't fair of me to expect her to be someone else. Someone I wanted her to be. She tried to end things, and what did I do? Exactly what she didn't want me to."

I really didn't think Pam wanted him to feel guilty about anything, not now. "Hey. She stuck around too. It takes two to tango."

I regretted my word choice as soon as they came out of my mouth, since the horizontal tango was, in fact, the problem.

Luckily Eric didn't seem upset, as he smirked, and then chuckled. "I guess I didn't know myself very well then. How the hell was I supposed to know anyone else?"

"That's a good way of looking at it."

"I still feel like an idiot and a tool," he grumbled. "You know, I probably would have been less mad, knowing that I wasn't being shoved aside for some other guy."

That actually made a lot of sense that he would think that, now that it wasn't really happening. In reality, I doubted he would have taken Pam choosing Erica over Eric as well as he was now. I figured though, he was allowed to justify things however he wanted, since this was a past tense situation. "I can see that." Drunk Eric still wouldn't hit a girl, but from what I'd heard he probably would have pulverized Pam's male lover. I don't know how he would have dealt with that revelation.

He glanced over at me. "I would have still been upset. I am upset."

"I know you are." I tapped my head. "I can tell."

I wanted to tell him that it probably had nothing to do with him, they were her issues from before he ever came along, but I didn't know that, and it wasn't my place to start making things up, since I was fairly certain that Eric 2.0 was quite different from Pam's version. Justifying their situation wasn't going to help our situation.

"I won't even pretend to tell you that I know what was going on in either of your heads during any of this, but I can tell you that I'm sure she had her reasons, and she didn't want to hurt you. That's what her actions say to me."

He nodded. "Thanks."

I smiled, linking my arm with his. "And for the record, you have terrible gaydar. Lafayette has been crushing on you for months and you haven't even noticed."

I could tell he appreciated my attempts at lightening the mood. He smiled. "Oh, yea?"

"Yea. That's why he keeps trying to catch you at work. He's hoping to sneak a peek at you, all sweaty and shirtless."

"Well he's succeeded a couple of times." He smirked.

"Are you interested? That's why he thought you were so angsty today." I winked at him. "For what it's worth, from what she said last night, you were everything to her, even when you were a hot mess."

And then Eric said something very honest, more honest than he'd ever been with me about his relationship with Pam. "We were everything to one another, for a long time. I think that's probably why we both had issues letting go."

I had to admit, I owed Pam quite a lot for sending me the version of Eric that I had, forged through trial after trial with her. It was too bad really, that she'd never seen him like he was now. I'm sure she would have still recognized parts, his fundamental self, but his delivery and methods were quite changed, I imagined.

"Well, you're both working on it. Maybe figuring out who did this to her will help you too."

"Even if I come across nasty bits along the way." He sighed. "And there may be more to come. I need to deal with the possibility of that."

We both did. I just hoped that Pam's last words in my dream weren't a sign of problems to come.


	12. Chapter 12

**Happy New Year! Hope everyone had a fantastic time! I'm glad everyone is still into the story...I know it's a bit dark, but I think it goes with the subject matter. Anyway, let me know what you think...I really like receiving your feedback, especially because this is sort of outside my usual realm. **

**Thanks Missus T and Ethehunter!**

* * *

**Eric**

**Three weeks later...**

Now that it had been pointed out to me, and I'd dug through some of my cloudy memories from five years ago, I realized that I wasn't terribly observant. When I thought back on it, Pam had given me lots of cues that perhaps not all was right with her and me in a lot of ways.

I wasn't quite sure how I felt about all of it, though. Sometimes I felt kind of sick, at the thought of how she might have felt when we were together. The one thing I held onto, though, was that I knew she loved me in her own way, the only way she was capable of loving me.

Ghost Pam hadn't been as obnoxious as she was in the beginnings of our recent cohabitation, but she still made her presence known. Things moved, lights flickered; we were constantly on edge. It was like she was afraid that we were going to forget about her so she thought she'd make it impossible.

I also realized that Sookie had begun compulsively cleaning our house, almost daily. I wasn't sure what to make of that.

We were not okay. In fact, we were both spending a great deal of time tiptoeing around some rather big issues, and I knew my mental state was affecting her.

I almost wished at times that we were a scream your faces off kind of couple, the kind that put everything out there and dealt with it, but we weren't. I knew how I got when confronted, and I knew it would probably make things worse and really upset her. I had fully accepted that I had anger issues from time to time, but I never wanted her to think it was directed at her. Sookie was the kind of person that kept it all inside. That was apparent from the moment we met.

Finally, I couldn't take the awkward anymore. It got to the point where it was probably bothering me more than anything Pam could come up with. I stood behind her one afternoon, the Friday after her first week of classes. "You know, you can't scrub Pam out."

She whipped around, her eyes wide. She'd been avoiding eye contact with me for about a week, but I had her now. "I know. I just, I keep seeing spots and dirt around."

I was no psychologist, but it was clear that we both had drawn out some deep issues over Pam's extended visit.

"Stan and I booked our tickets for New Orleans. We leave in three weeks." He'd actually made a bit of progress through his letter. De Castro had spoken about Pam's death in a press conference, and although he hadn't portrayed her in a very positive light, noting that she had cocaine in her system at the time of her death, he'd still called for her killer to be brought to justice.

Looking at his slimy face on that Youtube video I realized that he probably knew more than he was letting on. The house where Pam had been killed was a furnished rental, vacant at the time. He had keys, sure, but as four other people had sworn, he wasn't anywhere near there at the time of death.

She narrowed her eyes at me. "For how long?"

I shrugged. "It's open ended. Hopefully not more than a couple of weeks." Who was I kidding? I had no idea how long this was going to take. "But I don't know." I carefully pried the sponge out of her hands. "Come on. Sit with me for a minute."

She nodded, pulling her gloves off. "I think I'm just trying to keep my mind occupied."

I put my arm around her back and rubbed gently, as we sat down on the couch. "It's a bit obsessive, don't you think?"

Sookie nodded, her eyes heavy with sadness. "Yea."

We hadn't talked much, not since her dream. It had taken me a while to process everything and put the pieces of everything together into a way that didn't make me want to cry, or hit something really hard.

"Why are you trying to keep your mind occupied?" I knew bits and pieces of why, of course, but I wanted to hear it from her.

And then she completely broke down, her head in my lap.

I'd never been happier to see a woman cry. Her facade over the last few weeks had been exhausting for both of us.

"I'm afraid that we'll never figure this out, and we'll ever get any peace. I'm scared of what will happen to you if you don't get the answers you're looking for. I don't want you to go because I'm going to miss you. I'm afraid we'll never be able to just go back to the way things were."

I rubbed her head, running my fingers through her long blond hair. "It's okay. I'm afraid of all of those things too." I pulled her shoulder so she was looking up at me. "But I'm also worried about you."

The look in her eyes told me that she was worried about her too. "I'll be okay."

I shook my head, wishing I could be enough, but acknowledging that I wasn't. Not now, anyway. "I'd like you to start talking to someone. I want you to have someone to confide in, since we're not doing a great job of confiding in one another at the moment."

"But..."

I shushed her. "I don't want you to try and be strong for me, at a cost to you. I think you need to talk to someone. Tell them whatever you want, whatever you need to. Tell me too, if you want, if you feel like you can, but we haven't been talking. I want you to talk." The last thing she needed was to keep it all inside.

She sat up, and wiped her eyes. "I don't want to end up like you and her."

"And we don't have to," I kissed her cheek. "But we need to talk. To each other, or other people. I have Stan to talk to about my issues. I want you to have someone too." I probably should have been talking to Stan more about how Sookie and I were coping, but we were quite focused on solving Pam's murder.

She nodded. "Okay. I'll talk to someone."

We had a lot of work ahead of us, to rebuild what we'd had a few months ago, and because of the constant Pam issues, we couldn't even start. I knew she lost confidence in me after my slip, and my confession that sex with Pam was very different than sex with her hadn't exactly piqued her interest in, well, sex, period.

She had been sleeping in pyjamas. That didn't bode well for sex. Sleeping in underwear boded well for sex. Pyjamas were an extra layer. She was also sleeping on the opposite side of the bed.

There were no pyjamas before. I wasn't even sure she owned a pair.

Later that night, I felt her crawl into be a little while after I did. "Sook?"

She rolled over to face me, her blue eyes shining. She'd been crying. "Yea?"

I stroked her face with the back of my hand. "I'd rather be with you than her, in every way."

She wiped her eyes. "You're so conflicted. I don't know what about though, that's the hard thing."

"You can always ask."

"Well?" She nodded at me to continue.

"I was having a hard time dealing with our little Pam revelation. Not because she may not have been into guys, but because I hated the idea that I forced her, even passively, into anything after all she'd been through. The idea that I caused her any more pain than she'd already been through makes me sick." I felt her hand reach for mine under the covers, and I took it, smiling as she stroked my palm with her thumb. "But that's my stuff. Not our stuff, not your stuff."

She sighed, her face sad. "I really wish that was true, but Eric, you're sucking the life out of me. I got pulled into Victor Madden's office today, because I looked despondent at lunch, and he'd gotten it into his head that you were abusing me. I'm fine with my kids, and I blamed my period, so he dropped it, but it's not good. What are we going to do here?" She inclined her head towards me.

It was then that I had a thought. I closed my eyes for a minute and thought only about her and me. "Remember the first weekend that I spent at your house in Bon Temps?" I thought about it, how she'd met me at the door barefoot in that little white sundress with the red flowers, how I scooped her up in my arms, because I'd missed her so much I thought my heart was going to explode in only two weeks. "You were so beautiful that day, and you made those incredible crab cakes for dinner with the collard greens. I just remember thinking how incredibly lucky I was to be sitting there, across from you."

I'd loved her way before then, but seeing her standing there that day, rocked me to my very core. I didn't want to be apart from her after that.

"Are we recapturing the magic? After a year and a half?" She gave me a half smile.

I shook my head and kissed her forehead. "I'm giving you a break. I miss you."

A slow grin spread across her face as she took in my mood. "You're happy. I can feel it. How did you..."

"I'm thinking about you. Us." I brought her hand up and kissed it. "I'm sorry things have been so awful. I hate hurting you."

She nodded. "I know you are, but Eric, when you feel awful, I feel awful. I know we're kind of in a bad spot with that. I just, I don't want to go back there. I don't want to leave my job. I don't want to feel hopeless again, and I'm starting to."

Her admission broke my heart. I was supposed to be helpful and supportive, not the cause of the problem. I thought about it for a minute. "How about this? I'll do my negative thinking while you're at work and try my hardest to think positively when you get home. If I can't be positive, I'll stay out in my shop."

"I don't want you to feel like you can't be yourself around me," she whispered, leaning into my hand as I wiped her cheek.

"It's not that I wouldn't be myself. Maybe just a less troubled version. You've already seen the troubled version, so you'll know what I'm like."

"What if Pam makes herself known?"

"Then she does, and we'll deal with that as it happens." I kissed her softly. "But for now, I'll just think about you and what a wonderful house you keep."

She smacked my arm. "Hey, watch it. It's been a good distraction."

"Once I figure all this out, because I will figure all this out, I want to take you away somewhere. Maybe somewhere warm, with a beach, some fabulous non-alcoholic cocktails. No distractions necessary."

She leaned over and nibbled on my lip. "I'd like that."

And with that, we both perked up our heads, as something dropped in the kitchen. Maybe a bowl or something. Sookie went to get up, but I pulled her back down. "Forget about it. Come on. You and me here." I lifted my head up a bit, turned and looked out towards the kitchen. "Pam, if you fuck this up for me, I'm done. You can haunt me until my dying day, and I won't lift a finger to help you. I mean it, Pam. Leave us alone. We know you're here. We don't need any reminders."

"You're negotiating with her?" Sookie peeked over me and looked towards the kitchen.

"Yea. If that's what it takes, then yea." I rolled over, looking back towards her. "Tell me about your class. Any goofball kids?"

I found that by focusing on her, it was pretty easy to stay in our now, which, despite Pam's ever irritating presence and her lack of interest in sleeping with me, wasn't so bad. I would never push anyone to sleep with me again, not that I'd been pushy before, but after my Pam revelation, I wouldn't be initiating anything for a while.

The noise we had heard was Pam breaking my favourite coffee mug, and I didn't give a shit.

I figured three weeks was enough time to spend with my head buried in my ass over my past with Pam. She couldn't have hated me too much, or I doubted I'd be her pick to help with this, in spite of what she'd shared about herself with Sookie and how she had to knew I'd react. When I woke up the next morning, I felt my heart soar at Sookie's head on my chest and her arm wrapped around me tightly.

I felt like it would take a while for me to get myself in check around Sookie, but I knew if I didn't, the results would be terrible, probably for both of us. After she went to work, I made a list of my top Sookie Eric moments. It started out as a top ten list, but quickly swelled to twenty-five or so. I spent the morning working and met up with Stan for coffee around lunchtime.

He met me with a small binder of clippings. "I did some more digging on De Castro. So, he's a lecherous gold digger. His wife is the heiress to some crazy oil fortune in Texas and ten years his senior. Here, look at them together." He pulled out a clipping, announcing his run for office. She had tacky red dyed hair and was quite overweight, which was only magnified by pound of makeup, the huge fur coat she wore and the giant strand of pearls around her neck. De Castro, in contrast was quite fit, looking possibly younger than his forty-two years.

They looked miserable. "Boy, they look happy."

Stank quirked his eyebrow. "I'm sure he's got a girl on the side. They've been married twelve years, so since he was thirty. She just does the socialite thing. Lots of charity functions it seems."

"Maybe she was a stunner when they got married. Maybe she's amazing in the sack. I've heard good things about older women." I smirked back. Stan and I together were a couple of assholes. "Anyway, what else do you have?"

"He married his step-daughter off a year ago, to a junior partner in his firm. The wedding was the event of the year. Here's the announcement."

He handed it over, and I glanced at it. "Who cares?"

Stan shrugged. "Just being thorough. Anyway, it seems this Pam thing being dragged up again has given him reason to start pointing fingers at the police department. They're at odds now. I doubt he'll get the cop vote."

"Anything else? Felecia forwarded me some email correspondence that she had with Pam a few days before she died, but I haven't been able to read it. The timing hasn't been right."

Stan caught the meaning in my words immediately. "How's Sookie?"

"I don't know. I'm upsetting her with all of this. Finding out that Pam was into women because of what happened to her has been upsetting, and you know that Sookie's sensitive."

Stan was in the loop on Sookie's quirk. I'd told him a few weeks earlier, after an awkward afternoon meeting at our place when she was quite cold to him. It was interesting; Stan never questioned anything. "Yea, I would imagine this would be hard for both of you."

"I'm going to read the emails when I go upstairs. I'll let you know if there's anything important."

"My press is interested in the book idea. I may get a contract before we go."

"Good. Hopefully that will be motivation to figure this out as soon as possible."

Stan nodded. "I feel like it'll all make more sense when we're down there."

We chatted a while longer, and then he got up to leave, and I went to face Pam's emails so I'd be done when Sookie got home.

He stopped me as he went to get into his car. "Oh, Eric. One more thing. I was thinking, the place Pam was killed was a furnished empty rental, so who knows if it was empty at all. No one was paying rent, but who knows if anyone was actually living there. Take that as you will. It's a beautiful place. I found the listing online. I'll send you a link."

I wasn't sure I needed to see the place where Pam spent her last hours on some rental site, but I needed to check it out. "Thanks. See you next week?"

"Yes, sir." He gave me a nod and headed out, and I headed upstairs.

I made myself a coffee and checked the clock. It was 1 p.m.. Sookie didn't get home before 4 p.m., so that gave me some time.

Felecia had attached five emails in total. I rolled my eyes as I read the first two, which were just her and Pam making plans for coffee. I wondered what I had been doing then. The third had a few attached pictures of them out at some club, and I smiled to myself, thinking that I remembered Pam going out that night and how pretty she'd looked, her hair down, as opposed to its usual updo. No mystery people to question, and no mention of any new lover.

The fourth and fifth were rather telling though. Felecia had emailed her, and Pam had responded.

_Where have you been, bitch? I've been calling you for weeks. Is your dad not letting you out to play anymore, or have you found someone more interesting than Thal and I? Anyway, I got tickets for Jazzfest. Let me know if you want me to get you some for you and Daddy._

I assumed Daddy was me. Wonderful. Pam had written back a few days later.

_Oh, I've been quite occupied with a new friend, but I haven't forgotten about you. Get me one. Eric's not much into fun lately, so I'm sure he wouldn't be interested._

A new friend. That didn't say much. I guess the date might have been useful. End of March. I had begun jogging every morning with Sam around then. It was something he suggested as a way to stay focused and not think about drinking. I'd seen her stumble in once, while I was leaving out the back, and I'd never said anything. And I totally would have gone to Jazzfest. I loved Jazzfest. At least I had, before I'd sobered up.

The last email was a bit longer and was just from Pam to Felecia. She hadn't included her response.

_So, we need to make dinner plans. A four top, with my new friend. I have to confirm that she's as incredible as I think she might be. I never realized that it was possible to feel so at home, so comfortable with someone that I've only known for a year or so, but seriously, being apart from her feels terrible. Almost as bad as coming down off those weird mushrooms Clancy got us a couple of months ago._

_Last night was our one year anniversary of sorts, and she surprises me with dinner at Antonie's and an opera-length pearl necklace. What a fantastic, versatile present. I'll tell you about it next time we meet up._

_Kisses,_

_Pammy._

I closed my eyes for a minute, remembering how she used to sign everything with that. That was a ridiculously extravagant gift to buy someone for a one year anniversary that was for sure. I didn't want to think about the versatility factor.

So this girlfriend was flush. That was sort of useful but still left a glut of unanswered questions, most importantly, who the hell was she? I supposed I could try and get Antonie's to go through their reservation records, but I doubted they'd take too kindly to that request, since it was years ago, and I wouldn't know what I was looking for anyway.

She'd started seeing her when I was drinking. That was no surprise, but it still kind of stung, maybe more because she'd found someone to love. If they'd been seeing each other for a year, it was likely that she was the scratcher too, another fact that I'd have a hell of a time verifying.

So far, I knew that Pam had been cheating on me with a rich woman who also liked it rough. I had nothing.

I shut down my laptop before Sookie got home, and went over my list of great Eric Sookie memories just before she came in the door. I stashed it on top of the fridge, when she stood up on her tiptoes for a kiss. "Hey."

"Hey, baby." I kissed her back, before tossing her over my shoulder. "Dinner at Salty's? I bought a bunch of this new stir fry sauce from the spice guy, and Lafayette wants us to be his guinea pigs."

"Okay," she said from over my shoulder. "What did you do today?"

This was the hard part. Trying to stay positive, when there was a chance that I might never be able to fix this. "I built two chairs and met Stan for lunch. He's been doing some digging on the guy who owned the place where Pam was found. One of her old friends sent me a few emails, and most of them were pointless, except I think her girlfriend was quite well off."

"And she liked it rough." She reached over and tried to pat my ass, to no avail. I smiled.

"That, too." I had to ask. "How am I doing?"

"Better." She made an attempt to wrap her arms around my waist. "You're a bit glum, but you aren't as anguished as you were. I can tell you're trying."

"And that's good?"

"That's great." She patted my back. "That's all you can do."

The sauce was a hit, a mild curry with lime undertones. For someone that was never a foodie, I'd certainly come a long way in the time we'd been running Salty's. Lafayette had also come a long way too. His cooking was starting to receive accolades from local magazines and food blogs, all of which was very good for business.

We sat in the table in the kitchen and served ourselves while Lafayette rambled on about this and that. I wasn't paying attention. I loved watching Sookie eat. The way her mouth turned up at the corners, the tiny groans she made, the way she'd close her eyes over a particularly delicious bite.

When we'd finished, our eyes met. She spoke first. "Well Laf, you've outdone yourself. I have some lesson plans to work on though, so I'm going to have to call it a night. Eric, are you coming?"

I nodded. "Yea, thanks for dinner. There's a bunch of haddock to use up in the deep freeze this week, so maybe make that one of the specials?"

He looked at Sookie and me with a knowing look. "Fish cakes it is. Night you two. Feel free to send that ghost down here to clean up the kitchen."

I was utterly unprepared as she shoved me up against the counter when we got upstairs. "I missed you too," she whispered, reaching up to kiss my neck.

I let her take charge, enjoying every minute of it. It would probably be a while before I was back in full form, but at least I was making her happier with my attitude.

I could keep this up. For three more weeks, anyway.


	13. Chapter 13

**And here's the next chapter! Thanks for all the feedback love...it's interesting where you all think I'm going with this. Some of you have had some really good ideas, but I'm still holding a few of the cards close to my chest. **

**Thanks to Missus T, Ethehunter, and Tvgirlsvm!**

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**Sookie**

Eric was trying. I had to give him credit for that. I hated the idea of giving up on us, more than anything, because I really felt deep down inside that we were good for each other. Feeling like he was lobbing negativity at me, even though I knew it wasn't directed at me specifically, was probably the biggest challenge we'd faced. Bigger than moving to a strange place and starting new lives, because I knew what had happened the last time I'd felt like this.

I wasn't the same person anymore, though.

But he was trying, and for the most part it was working. For a few hours a day, anyway, he was able to shut it all out and just live in the moment with me. There were nights he stayed out in his shop quite late, and I didn't question it, I just let him sort his own stuff out. We talked about Pam's case here and there, but I really tried to live like we weren't stuck in this purgatory of sorts waiting to see if we were going to get our lives back.

I had to admit though, I was enjoying him sitting back and letting me take control in the bedroom. I never thought I would, but it was kind of fun. I hope it furthered the point to Pam that he was mine.

It was about a week before he left that I dreamt of Pam again. This time we were walking along the beach a few blocks from our house.

"_You know, Sookie, I hope it's a good idea, you letting him go off on his own."_

"_I'm not his babysitter, Pam." I glanced up at the moon. "He's a grown man."_

_She raised an eyebrow at me. "In some ways, he is. In others, not so much."_

_It was a warm night in my dream, far warmer than the actual September night was. We'd closed the windows for the first time since May before going to bed. "Maybe you should start appearing to him in dreams. See if you can't give him some hints."_

_She shook her head. "You're better at interpreting them. He usually just rolls over and ignores me. Tell me, Sookie, what happens if he doesn't figure this out?"_

"_Why don't you tell me, Pam?"_

_She shrugged. "Really, I have no idea. I don't have anywhere to go, or anything to do."_

_I was a bit exasperated with her, after the past few weeks. Actually, for much longer than that. "Don't you have other friends that you could bug? People you could torment? How about your mysterious lover? Perhaps your actual killer, even. Wouldn't that be more effective? Torment him into confessing?"_

_She raised her eyebrows. "No one cares as much as Eric; even if he pretends he doesn't."_

"_Not even the woman you were cheating on him with?"_

_Pam tightened her mouth. "Least of all her."_

"_Well since I'm here, any more vital hints you'd like to drop that are going to fuck up my marriage?"_

_Pam chuckled at me. "Oh, Sookie, I can't fuck up your marriage. That's up to you and our husband."_

"_Well you aren't exactly making things easy."_

"_The best things always hurt a little. That's how you know they're good. If you're willing to go through the pain."_

_I snorted at her. "That's a twisted way of looking at marriage, Pam."_

_All of a sudden the wind picked up, and the waves started crashing over the rocks a few feet away. "It's time for you to go."_

_I crossed my arms and looked at her. "No. Not until you give me something to go back with. Something he can use."_

_She leaned over and whispered in my ear. "It's always the first place you look."_

I woke up gasping in our bed, and Eric grumbled something, before rolling over to look at me curiously. "Where'd she take you this time?"

"How did you know?"

"You were mumbling." He gave me a slight smile.

I smiled back, running my hand over his stomach. "We went to the beach. Seriously, could she and I be any more different?"

He shook his head. "Nope. You really couldn't be. Did she tell you anything useful?"

"She said that you just ignore her when she tries to talk to you. Thanks, for that." I rolled my eyes. "She also said that the last lover she had wouldn't help her like you have been, and it's always the first place you look. Which doesn't make much sense."

He narrowed his eyes. "Look for what?"

"I don't know. She's very vague. It kind of drives me nuts."

"Fucking ghosts." Eric smirked.

I started seeing Claudine the next morning, a therapist in a medical center across town. I'd found her through Amelia, who had started to question why I'd want to see someone, but dropped it quite quickly when I told her that it was private.

I was glad we didn't have the kind of relationship where she'd push me on it.

Claudine Crane, a tall, stunning brunette welcomed me to her office with a hug. I wasn't sure how conventional it was, but it actually felt nice.

"Sit, Sookie." She grinned at me broadly, beckoning to an overstuffed plaid couch in her office. "It's so nice to meet you."

She was almost too nice. I wasn't sure I wanted to subject her to the level of fuckedupness that my life had taken on recently. "You too."

"So I had your file sent up from Shreveport." She gave me a knowing look. "How are you doing?"

I was used to the sympathetic looks. "I'm okay. Better than I was when that file was put together. I thought it was time that I started seeing someone here."

She nodded. "Anything bring that on?"

"You want the truth, or the rational story?"

"Truth, of course."

And then I started spewing. "My husband and I have a ghost. Well, he has a ghost, but she bothers me too. It's caused some rifts in our marriage. It's his dead wife, and it's caused some taxing revelations."

"What kind of taxing revelations?"

I continued spewing, and I didn't stop until I'd told her everything. She sat there, her perfectly sculpted brow furrowed. "That's an interesting story, Sookie."

"My husband will verify every word of it." I leaned back on the couch. "I'm not crazy, Ms. Crane, but my life is at the moment."

She looked slightly stunned for a minute. "I don't know if I'm the right person for you to be talking to."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Why?"

"I'm not sure I can help you."

The judgmental look in her eye infuriated me, even though I knew what I'd told her sounded nuts. "I'm not crazy. Believe me. It's taken me a long time to come to terms with that myself." I stood up. "That file you have on me doesn't say I'm crazy. It says I was overwhelmed with my life. I'm here because my husband thought it might be nice for me to have someone to talk to. If you aren't willing to listen, then I guess I'll take my business elsewhere."

Her eyes went wide. "Please, Sookie, sit. I think we got off on the wrong foot."

I furrowed my brow at her. "I don't need someone to tell me I'm crazy. I just need someone to listen."

She nodded. "I think I can do that."

When I left an hour later, I realized that I didn't want to go back. She wasn't the person I wanted to talk to, despite the fact that she'd tried really hard to keep an open mind. I could still feel her apprehension, her doubt in my words. I doubted myself enough. I didn't need to talk to someone weekly that doubted me as well.

I hadn't even really gotten into my marital issues with her. Like Pam, I wasn't sure where we were to go after all of this. Resuming where we'd left off, pre-Pam would be quite impossible, if things were really ever resolved. We'd have to start again in a sense, because we certainly weren't the same people we'd been six months earlier.

A few days before Eric left, I went down and found him in his shop. It was nearly 10 p.m, which was later than he'd ever stayed out before. As easy as it was to ignore his emotions when he was out of my sight, I didn't want to do that right now, not when he was so close to leaving, and to tackle such a big problem.

I pulled on my sweater, walked out into the cool fall night and ran into Lafayette at the dumpster.

He gave me a nod. "Hey good lookin'. What's cookin'?"

I smiled at him. With his sparkly eyeliner, he shouldn't have fit in here, in sparkly clean Maine, but he absolutely did somehow. "Just going to check on Eric. How's tricks?"

"Tricks are for kids." He winked. "Business is good. We're starting to get the leaf watchers, but they usually tip good." He looked up, as a leaf fell at our feet. "Fall's coming."

"I know," I sighed. "And then the snow."

He gave me a nod. "Hey, Sook, you got a minute?"

His tone was strained, which was unusual for him. "Sure."

I followed him into the kitchen and he took at seat at the small table that Eric and I ate at sometimes. "This is going to sound crazy, well," he paused, "Maybe it won't to you. As you probably guessed, my people aren't from around here. I've got roots that go back to Haiti."

I wasn't sure why I was getting a Lafayette family history lesson tonight, but I went with it. "Cool."

He rolled his eyes. "This ain't family history lesson time. I made you both something. You've both been very good to me, even if that husband of yours isn't my type." He winked. "So it's best that you don't ask too many questions, and just carry this with you. I know Northman is going down south, and he asked me to keep an eye on you." He handed me a small bag. "This is protection, from the things you can't see. It's good mojo."

I turned the small red felt bag over in my hands. "What's in here?"

"Best you don't think too much about that. It's powerful magic." He smiled. "I'll keep an eye on you too. I made one for Eric to take with him." He pulled out a blue one. "I don't know what's gone on in your lives, and it's none of my business, but you're good for one another. Evil will try and rip that apart, if you let it. Then it wins though, and you don't let evil win."

I questioned briefly how Lafayette had formed such strong opinions of us, but then I realized that he saw us every day. He was very observant. "It's just hard," I said, trying not to get too emotional, but failing miserably.

He gave me a small smile. "Nothing worth fighting for was ever easy." He looked upstairs. "Remember when that old beau of yours came by?"

I nodded. "Yea. Did you see him?"

He nodded. "I did. And I spit in their chowder. What do you know about the wife?"

I shook my head. "Not much. She's a lawyer."

"I got a bad vibe from her. Worse than from him even, and his wasn't great. All this started around then, didn't it?"

"Yea, but how did you..." I wasn't sure we'd mentioned anything to him about things starting with Pam.

He grinned. "Amelia has a big mouth. I didn't want to offer my opinion, because I thought you had enough opinions being thrown at you. There ain't no coincidences, Sookie. Remember that."

I nodded. "I dream about her, his old wife, sometimes. She tells me things."

"Listen to those things, but listen to yourself first. She doesn't have all the answers, or she wouldn't need your help." He thumbed Eric's small bag between his fingers. "And you're the one that's alive, not her, which means you've got her beat on life skills."

That was an interesting point. "Thanks."

He smiled, and reached across the table for my hand. "You come and see me, if you need someone to talk to. I'm a good listener, and I know what it's like to be different, Sookie. Just cause we're different in how we're different, it's all still different."

"I should let you finish up, and fetch my husband."

"He's been hacking something up over there all day. I didn't want to interrupt." He stood up. "Keep that with you."

I patted my pocket. "Will do."

Eric was indeed hacking away at something with an axe when I went out. He looked up when I walked in, and gave me a smile. "Hey. I was just coming up."

"Lafayette wanted you to have this. It's some sort of magic thing he made." I handed him the pouch. "He said not to look inside. It's good juju or mojo, or something."

"Why does everyone in this town seem to know something about the supernatural?" He chuckled, sounding more like his old self than he had in ages. I smiled, as he tucked the pouch in the pocket of his jeans.

"Who knows? I'll take whatever protection we can get though." I looked at the hacked up stump that he'd been attacking. "What's that?"

He grinned. "Wait a minute."

Eric came back with a piece of glass a few minutes later, and I realized the stump, which looked like a mess, was the base of a perfectly balanced coffee table. "Wow. That's really nice."

"I bought some burls from a guy in Connecticut, and they came today." He nodded to the left, and I saw the matching end tables, and an absolutely stunning chair. "I wanted to finish these before I left."

I breathed a huge sigh of relief, knowing he wasn't upset about anything. I ran my hands over the knotty wood. Burls were defects in a tree, but they were so interesting. "Well, they look fantastic."

"Thanks. They should pay for our trip when I get back." He stood and kissed my forehead. He was okay in his head, in fact, he felt like I remembered him feeling, which made me realize how awkward things really had been before. "Let me lock up, and I'll see you in a minute."

I smiled, as his hand brushed my butt. "Okay."

I wasn't sure what had changed in him, or if Lafayette made some powerful voodoo charms, but for the rest of the week, pre-Pam Eric was back. We hardly heard boo from her, besides some rattling and knocking, which we'd learned to somewhat ignore.

It was the night before he left when I sat on our bed in an old fun run t-shirt of his watching him pack. "I wish I was coming," I said, somewhat absentmindedly.

He looked up at me, his expression a bit sad. "I do too."

"I'll call you every night."

"Good." He smiled. "It's weird to be going back. I never thought I would."

"Well hurry up so you can come back up here. This bed is really too big for one." I lay down on my stomach and propped myself up on my elbows. "You have your hotel reservation and everything?"

He nodded. "Yep, I'm good. All done." He pulled the zipper around the case and climbed up onto the bed with me. "I'll think about you every minute," he whispered in my ear, as his hand went up the back of my shirt.

"Me too." I closed my eyes and rolled onto my back. His rough hands, full of texture, slid from my back to my front, gently gliding over my stomach, and higher, grazing my breasts. I gasped as his thumbs stopped on my chest.

Nothing was better than Eric at his best. He brought his mouth down to meet mine, and I savoured the sensations that followed; his mouth on my neck, his hand in my hair, his hands everywhere. I loved when he was attentive, and we were the only two people in the world, the only two that mattered. Even a few weeks away from all that made my heart ache, and we hadn't been right for months.

For a switch, he picked up on my mood quite easily. "What are you thinking about?"

"Just how much I missed this; the way it feels with you," I whispered.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered back.

I pulled him down on me, so I could feel the weight of him. "I just want you. That's all I ever wanted."

He smiled, pulling my leg up. "I'm yours, Lover."

And after that night, I didn't doubt it. Not for a second.

Eric and Stan's flight left around 11:00 a.m., so I said my goodbyes before I went to school and tried to keep the tears to a minimum. We stood in the doorway, wrapped up in one another for quite a while. Finally, I pulled away and reached down and grabbed his hands.

"I'm going to be late for work. You'll text me when you land?"

He nodded. "Yep. I'll call you when you're done with work too." One of his hands went to my cheek. "I'll fix this, Sookie," he said with determination.

I shook my head at him. "You just come home to me. That's all I want."

We both knew what I meant. Physically and emotionally.

"I will." He kissed me, and we really didn't need to say anything else after that. Whatever we'd been struggling with between us didn't really matter. I knew he was doing this for us, maybe for Pam a little bit, but really for us, for our future together.

I finally pulled my hand away from his and went to work. A few weeks ago, I didn't think we would have had such a good goodbye, but we'd somehow managed to turn it around.

The day went by quickly, and Eric texted me after lunch to let him know that he and Stan had landed and were at their hotel. He also let me know that Stan's wife wanted me to come over for dinner one night while they were gone, and that she'd call with details.

The first night without him was a little hard, since we hadn't really been apart since we got married. I went about my usual routine and read in bed for a while. I didn't realize how accustomed I'd grown to Pam's emotions buzzing away in my head until she wasn't there anymore. It was weird in a sense, but a relief to have her gone.

I only hoped she'd return Eric unscathed.


	14. Chapter 14

**So, yea, here's the next chapter! Let me know what you think! Thanks for all the review love! **

**And thanks to Missus T, Ethehunter, and Tvgirlsvm!**

* * *

**Eric**

When Stan and I landed in New Orleans, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread. I didn't want to think about what would happen if this didn't work out.

Stan, on the other hand, was far more chipper about the whole thing. "Two weeks minimum away from the wife and kids? Eric, even if we don't figure this out, it's going to be awesome."

I looked at him deadpan. "We need to figure this out. I have a lot riding on resolving this." And fast, hopefully. Sookie and I were in a better place than we had been, but I didn't want to push it.

Stan nodded. "We'll figure it out."

We booked in at the Hotel St. Pierre in the French Quarter, which was nice and clean and had everything I needed in a room. Stan was in the room next to me, since we'd booked long in advance, and it was off-season.

I unpacked, and then Stan and I met for dinner in the restaurant downstairs. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realized that I looked older than I'd ever seen myself.

I guess that was because I was older. Hopefully wiser, too.

The next few days were somewhat useful. We combed through newspaper archives from six years earlier, and I made plans to meet up with Felecia and Thalia for lunch at Felecia's place. I wanted to do this alone. I didn't mind Stan talking to them, if he wanted to eventually, but I wanted the first contact to be without him, because frankly, I had no idea what they'd say.

Stan took the opportunity to buy some souvenirs and take some notes on the setting for his book while I went to their tiny apartment inside a rambling mansion in the Garden District. I'd met them briefly while Pam was alive, but we'd never spoken much, since they seemed to think of me as her uncool dad.

Felecia was as I remembered her, with a mass of dark curls and stunning caramel skin. She greeted me with a stiff hug. "Eric. It's been years."

"Thanks for your help with this. I just really want to put this to bed so we can all move on properly." I'd told her that there had been some odd happenings, but I hadn't gotten too into it.

"Of course. Come in." She ushered me in, and I sat down on their living room couch. I hadn't realized that they were a couple, until I noticed that there was only one bedroom and some rather provocative images of the two of them together. God, I was totally oblivious. "Thalia should be back in an hour or so. Do you want some tea?"

"Sure." While she was in the kitchen I looked around and took in their place, and my eyes were drawn to a small custom sized canvas of a redhead. I'd made Pam's canvases for her for the most part. It was a nude, and without a doubt, it had been done by Pam. There had been a much larger painting of the same redhead but a different pose hanging over the kitchen table in our old house for a week or so. Pam rotated paintings almost weekly, displaying lots of nudes from the studio class she attended a few times a month. Sometimes she sold them, but usually she just got sick of looking at them. She was very critical of her work.

Red, as I had always thought of her, was lovely indeed. Milky white skin, perfect heart-shaped mouth, small but perky breasts. Green eyes, curvy ass, tiny feet. I'd stared at that painting quite a bit in our house, but I'd never really noticed the details. It was just another one of Pam's paintings.

Pam painted. That was what she did. I'd never looked at it beyond that, until that very minute. Red's eyes were troubled in a way in this painting. There was a lot going on behind them. Pam captured that incredibly.

I should have looked before.

"Sugar?" I looked up to see Felecia giving me an odd look. "Yea, that's one of Pam's, but I guess you'd know that."

I nodded for the sugar, and she dropped a lump in. "She did a bigger one of her that was in our place for a while. She never liked to keep paintings around for long."

Felecia handed me my tea and set a beautiful silver antique tea service on the coffee table in front of me. "She was very fluid. Out with the old, in with the new, you know . She thrived on change."

I never would have said that about Pam. "Yea."

"She was going to leave you, you know." Felecia sipped her tea, like she'd asked me how the weather was outside. "She talked about it quite a bit. Setting you both free and all that."

"Oh. Yea, in hindsight that would have been for the best probably. A clean break."

Felecia narrowed her eyes at me. "A clean break? Come on now. You and I both know there would have been nothing clean about it. You two were like fucking Siamese twins going in opposite directions."

That was a rather accurate comparison. "I wish she'd been herself with me, you know?"

Felecia's eyes flashed with anger. "And I bet she'd wished you'd paid attention when she was, and maybe she would have been more often. You know how many tears she shed over you, sitting right where you are now? You didn't exactly make things easy for her."

"She's the one that was cheating on me."

Felecia shook her head at me. "And you didn't notice for almost a year. What does that say? How long do you think she was unhappy before she took it there?"

I raised my voice a bit. "Probably from the beginning. Since we were kids. Is that what you want to hear?"

"She loved you Eric. More than you deserved."

She was right. I couldn't even argue with her. "Maybe so, Felecia, but I'm not him anymore."

"Well I would hope not. She told me once that she wished you'd cheat on her or do something so she could hate you, because that would have made things a lot easier than just watching you waste your life drinking."

"She drank too."

Felecia raised an eyebrow. "Not much. Not in the three years that I knew her."

I snorted. "Are you kidding? I can think of a million times when I saw Pam drunk."

"In the three years before she died?" She shook her head. "Don't think so."

I thought back, way back, and attempted to cut through the fog from before I sobered up. I remembered Pam with a glass of wine, and a joint on occasion, but not much beyond that. I remembered us both being ridiculously drunk, but that was years before. Had I really been so oblivious? "Oh."

"Yea. She was hopeful when you cleaned up that things would be different, but you just kept on ignoring her. She talked about trying to start again with you, but you just weren't there for her. You were always so selfish."

"I guess I never understood her."

"I guess not." Felecia filled up my cup. "And now she's trying to make you understand."

"I married again. She's a teacher. Elementary school." I don't know why I chose to tell her that, instead of how much I loved Sookie or how we'd met, or some of the ways that she was different from Pam.

"Sounds safe."

I shook my head. "Not really."

She looked thoughtful. "I don't know why I didn't ask for Fifi's last name. It just never came up."

"Fifi?"

Felecia nodded. "That was what Pam called her. Fif, or Fifi. She'd be the most likely to know what happened. They spent a lot of time together. I hardly saw Pam in the couple of months leading up to her death."

"Do you know anything else about her?"

She furrowed her brow. "She was young. Maybe seventeen or eighteen. I think that's why Pam didn't bring her around. She might not have been comfortable with what they were, because of her age. That and they seemed to keep each other quite occupied. She said they had a lot in common once, but I didn't ask what she meant by that."

That was young, ten years younger than Pam had been. I'd never pegged Pam for a cradle robber. "You'll let me know if you think of anything else?"

She nodded. "This has never sat well with me, just shoving her death under a rug in some corrupt police department, and now it's come back to the surface with that lawyer running for office. Pam never did coke. She liked her drugs natural, like pot, hash, that kind of thing. There's more than meets the eye here. I'll help you with whatever you need."

I nodded, and we sat there awkwardly for a minute. "I should go."

Felecia smiled. "I'd say that Thalia will be sorry that she missed you, but I don't really think she will be. She blamed you for what happened to Pam for a long time."

I stood up and set my teacup down on the coffee table. "You know, I didn't blame myself for a long time, but I kind of do now."

"And that's why you're here. Guilt is a powerful thing." She saw me to the door. "Like I said, call if you need anything. I wish I had more to tell you."

"It's something. Fifi, huh? What kind of a pet name is that?"

"One I'd give a poodle." She giggled. "That Pam."

"That Pam, indeed." I gave her a slight smile and saw myself down the stairs.

Stan and I met up for a late dinner that night, and he was ready to burst when I saw him.

"So I got an interview with De Castro."

I shook my head. "Sorry, what?"

"A week from now. I pulled out my old press pass from my old days at the paper in Bangor. I used to contribute sometimes. I may have exaggerated my connections with the paper, but who cares! An interview with the mystery man himself."

I picked away at my steak. "What's the mystery?"

Stan's jaw practically dropped. "How he's involved? I'm sure he knows more than he's letting on."

I shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know how we'll get it out of him though, even if he does."

He leaned in across the table. "I think we should go look around the house."

"I doubt we'll find any evidence after five years, if the house is even still there."

Stan smirked at me. "You're a real downer, you know that?"

"I'm practical." I leaned back. "You know, I'd love to find some evidence, it's just unlikely."

"Maybe we'll have a better idea of how things went down if we see the place though."

He had a point. "Fine."

He beamed at me. "So, we'll have to pick up some ski masks, and black clothes. I don't think I have black pants."

I practically spit out my water. "Oh, no. We'll just walk over. If anyone asks what we're doing there, we'll tell them we're handymen. No way we're dressing like idiots. I have a record."

Stan's jaw dropped again. "You do?"

I nodded. "I may have punched a cop who accused me of killing Pam, years ago. It was reduced to probation because I was under duress. Anyway, no masks. I don't need anyone thinking I'm nuts."

"Northman, you are full of surprises. Let's go then. I have a camera on my phone if there's anything worth taking pictures of."

I wasn't sure what that would be, but so far Stan had been very helpful, and he and Sookie had been far more intuitive when it came to picking up on the nuances of things than I had been.

It was interesting to see the house. It was a really nice place, old, but completely restored, with a fantastic back deck. I knew where Pam had died from the autopsy photos they shoved in my face when they were accusing me of killing her. I pointed that out to Stan, and he made the point that she was probably running, since she was heading in the direction of the gate. That made sense.

Being back in New Orleans made me realize one thing that I'd tried really hard to forget, despite everything. I missed her. Terribly.

Stan took some pictures and when we parted ways, he went back to his room to compare them to the information he had.

I went back to my room, and after a brief chat with Sookie I tried to get some sleep. I didn't want to upset her, although I figured when I hung up that she knew I'd had a rough day, no matter how hard I tried to hide it.

As I figured I would, I had a visitor that night when I fell into my restless sleep. It was Pam from our wedding night, her hair up in a complicated arrangement on the top of her head.

"_Can you help me take my pins out?" She turned around, a quiet smile on her face that she only shared with me. Pam could be pretty brash with others, but she wasn't like that, not deep down. She'd asked me not to drink that day, and besides a shot or two of liquid courage before the ceremony, I'd done just that._

_I knelt on the bed, just as I had that day, and pulled them out on by one, and each piece of hair came loose. "You were so beautiful today. On this day," I whispered, as I began the long train of buttons on the back of her dress. "I miss you, Pammy."_

_She turned around and looked at me, with an expression that broke my heart. "I know. And I miss us, but I missed us for ages before any of this."_

"_I can't change that. Any of it." Seven buttons, eight buttons. I counted as I went. "But I can try and give you a bit of peace."_

"_That's all I want." She wiped her eyes. "I'm glad you're okay, you know."_

"_I know." I held her hand and kissed it, looking at the tattoo she'd gotten that morning. "This night was one of the happiest of my life."_

"_Mine too." She smiled again. "I like her, you know. Your wife. I think we would have been friends if we'd known each other, if things had been different."_

"_If we'd let each other go." I held her hand in mine, reluctant to drop it, and go back to a time when this simple moment had been overshadowed by everything else. All the shit._

"_This may have still been the end result." She turned around and started on the buttons on my shirt. "It's hard to say."_

_I tucked a curl behind her ear. "Why can't you just tell me who did this?"_

"_That's not how it works." She wiped her eyes. "But you're doing well."_

"_Did you love her?" I whispered, as she pushed my shirt off, and turned around so I could finish her buttons. Nine, ten, eleven._

_Her voice cracked. "I thought I did, but she let me down. You would never have let me down like that, in spite of your flaws. We had something that I don't think a lot of people do, even if there were parts that were quite flawed. Deep down, I'd have done anything for you, and I know you would have done the same."_

"_I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention." Twelve, thirteen._

_She gave a little shrug. "Well, you know that's a flaw of yours now. Don't make that mistake again."_

_Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. "Can you tell me anything?"_

_She turned around, and crawled onto my lap, her dress sliding down to reveal the red lingerie that I'd always remember. I wrapped my arms around her, incredibly reluctant to let her go. "You know her. You just don't know it. She knows everything you need to know, but she's going to hold it close to her heart. It's going to be hard, but you need to get out of her."_

_I relaxed, as she brought her mouth to mine. Her lips felt familiar, but so distant, all at the same time. I pulled away, long enough to ask an important question. "How do I do that?"_

_She pulled away after a minute. "Guilt is a powerful tool. She remembers how she felt that night. You just need to remind her."_

_I pushed her back a bit, so she was sitting on her heels. "She was there?"_

_Pam looked away, before climbing off the bed, and stepping out of her dress. "It wasn't her fault, Eric. She was just a kid. A scared kid."_

_She sat back down, in my lap, and I had a flash of us that night. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness. "Did I hurt you?"_

_She shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. "Not like that. Please don't think that. Did you ever know me to be the kind of person to do anything I didn't want to do?"_

"_But..."_

_She put her finger to my mouth. "But nothing. I made my choices Eric, and we weren't a mistake. The things that were out of my control, yea, they didn't make things easy on me, just like your dad beating on your mom wasn't easy on you. We were a product of our environments, and you and I both know we weren't given a lot to work with."_

"_But you still thought about it."_

_She furrowed her brow. "How could I not? It doesn't mean I loved you any less."_

_All of a sudden, the room darkened. "What's going on?"_

_She frowned. "Time for you to go."_

_I drew her to me and kissed her again, remembering exactly how she'd felt in my arms that night. "I'm not ready yet__."_

"_No one ever is." She whispered, pulling herself out of my grasp._

I woke up gasping and disoriented. Even though I knew it was after midnight, there was only one thing I wanted, no, needed to do.

I wrote down everything I could remember and I called my wife.

She answered on the third ring, and I didn't even wait for her to say hello. "So I may have just crossed some lines with dream Pam."

Sookie giggled, and I breathed a sigh of relief, that she wasn't mad, or disgusted. "Been there. Did she give up any information?"

"Yea, a bit. I wrote it down so I wouldn't forget anything. I miss you, Sook."

She was quiet for a minute. "I miss you, too. Lafayette came up to tuck me in a little while ago. We watched a movie."

"Will you just talk to me for a little bit?" My voice wavered on the last part. "Tell me about your day? What movie did you watch?"

So she told me everything. What the special was for lunch, how some kid ate almost an entire bottle of glitter in her class, and how Lafayette had the exact same bad taste in moves as she did and practically jumped up and down when she said she hadn't seen Sex and the City Two. I listened, laughed, and at the end of the call an hour later, realized something.

She was quite possibly perfect.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hi folks! Sorry it's been a while...the last chapter was a bit of a downer, and I needed some time to recover, since I'm a bit hormonal right now anyway. **

**Anyway, here's the next chapter...thanks for all the love, and keep it coming, if you please!**

**Thanks Missus T!**

* * *

**Sookie**

After Eric had been gone for a week, I took Stan's wife, Isabel, up on her offer of dinner. I was feeling lonely, and I had this sort of pit in my stomach whenever I'd talk to Eric. He didn't sound good. I was hoping Stan had told her how he was doing or something to ease my mind.

I tried to stay upbeat when I was talking to him, but if anyone knew what darkness felt like, it was me, and he was one shade of grey away from black.

I wasn't really sure what to do about that besides be there for him.

Stan and Isabel lived in a lovely Cape Cod style house about twenty minutes from us, and when I got there it quickly became apparent why Stan had been so quick to volunteer to go with Eric to New Orleans.

He was drastically outnumbered. Even the dog, a French Bulldog, was a girl.

Isabel was stunning, with her huge brown eyes and thick, wavy dark hair, with a carefree style that I admired. She welcomed me in after shooing everyone away from the door. "Sorry, they're a bit overwhelming."

I smiled. "It's okay. I've worked Fourth of July at the restaurant. Once you've done that, a couple of screaming girls are child's play."

"Carlie and Emma are anything but child's play. They're Stan through and through." She rolled her eyes and smiled. "Honestly, he may be in a house full of women, but I'm in a family full of Davis'."

She bribed them with dinner in front of the TV which left us to talk in the kitchen. Isabel made a mean spaghetti and meatballs with home-made garlic bread. She also cracked a bottle red wine which she seemingly hauled out of nowhere.

"I just bought it today. I don't get to indulge very often with Stan around." She smiled. "He also usually cooks, so that's been nice too."

She offered me a glass, but I shook my head. "Oh, I don't really drink."

"Tonight, you do." She raised an eyebrow. "If you're going to be married to an alcoholic, you need to learn that it's not you that has a problem. It's them. Supporting them is one thing, but it doesn't mean you have a problem with alcohol too."

"I'm driving as well."

She poured two glasses. "I have a spare room if you don't feel like driving."

I liked Isabel. She was incredibly warm, and her kids responded to her really well. There was a level of respect when she talked to them, kind of like little adults. She vanished for about a half an hour and put them to bed, and I did a little walking tour of their living room, glass of wine in hand.

There were loads of pictures of all of them, little bits of memories from many happy years together. Births, birthdays, vacations, weddings. The alcoholism was all an afterthought, a disease when you looked at those pictures. It wasn't the most important thing about their life, not even a bit. Not something to stop living for.

I'd never really had wine before. Jason just had beer, and Bill had enjoyed a glass of scotch now and then. Wine was nice. I didn't feel silly, like I had at that prom party where I'd passed out in my friend Tara's tent after doing tequila shots, just nice and mellow. Isabel joined me on the couch and topped up my glass. "So I haven't met Eric. Tell me about him."

I smiled to myself, as I usually did when I thought of him. "Well, he's very tall, and blond, and he's got quite a few tattoos. Nice ones though. Nothing really stupid." I didn't mind his tattoos. I never thought I'd like them on a man, but I did on him.

She nodded, encouraging me to continue. "He's very protective, and he's kind, and honest."

She gave me a knowing smile. "So you knew about the alcoholism before you got involved."

I nodded. "Right from the start. Before we even met in person."

She smiled. "So you met online. You see, with Stan, it wasn't really like that at all. We met in college; I used to edit the school paper, and he wrote for us. It was college, so everyone drank like fish. And then we went to Europe for six months after, and drank like fish. We got real jobs, and then well, he still drank like a fish. I got up at 6 a.m. and went to work, and he slept in until noon or so, wrote some drabbles and hoped they got published. Eventually they did, and I just sort of dealt with him and the drinking. He's a fun drunk, always was."

He kind of sounded like Jason. "What changed?"

"He knocked me up. I was twenty-six, and too old to be so irresponsible, so we decided to get married. Eventually, when I was up throwing up in the morning, and we were competing for the toilet, because he was hungover, it got to be a bit much. That was attempt one."

"Oh."

She laughed, kind of nervously. "He's messed up a lot. But he always feels bad about it, terrible in fact, so it always feels like a slip, and not a full on relapse. His slips never last more than a night, and they're usually quite far apart."

This was a lot of information. "Eric's only slipped once, and it was because of our present situation."

"Your ghost," she said, matter-of-factly. "Weird situation."

"Indeed."

"Stan says you're delicate." She sipped her wine. "What did he mean by that?"

I wasn't sure I was ready to share, not with someone that wasn't being paid to keep it confidential. I looked at her, on the couch across from me, and realized something.

I needed to share. It wasn't healthy, holding it all deep inside. "I went through a bit of a depression when my Gran died. She raised me after my parents were killed in a flood."

She nodded. "You're the closest generation to death. That's always a scary revelation. That parental buffer is important."

I'd never thought of it that way. "Yea, I guess I am."

"I like you, Sookie. We should do this again." She refilled my glass. "I don't have a lot of girlfriends that want to hear about Stan. Most of them think I should have kicked him to the curb years ago. They don't understand that that's..."

"Easier said than done, huh?"

She was a little drunk at this point. I probably was too. "Impossible to do for real. I've given him the boot before, from time to time. Even for a month once." She sighed. "It's just too hard to do for real, leaving him adrift out there. Maybe I'd consider it a personal failure, or maybe I'd blame myself if something happened to him. Anyway, you'll find out, you just do what you can. That's all you can do."

"I think Eric's harder on himself than I could ever be. Really, with everything we've gone though. He blames himself for his wife's death, even though he doesn't come right out and say it. I've known that from the beginning with him. Hopefully this thing he's doing with Stan will help him deal with that."

Isabel nodded. "It would be hard, not knowing what happened."

"And they were having problems when she died too, which didn't help. A lot was left unsaid."

"That's problematic."

I laughed. "What's problematic is when you're having sex with your husband and you can feel his old wife watching you." I shook my head. "God, that was too much information, wasn't it?"

She looked at me wide eyed "No, that's really fucked up. I want more info on this ghost. No wonder Stan's so interested. He loves a good story."

So I told her everything, and we laughed, and I remembered what it was like to have friends before Tara thought I'd lost my mind. Before I'd moved and become guarded with my desire to start new. I hadn't realized that by doing that though, I'd been denying myself something important; the ability to be honest with people that I wanted to share myself with.

I sent Eric an 'I love you' text at about 3 a.m. before passing out in the little spare room next to Carlie.

**A few days later...**

**Eric**

Stan and I put all the information we had together one afternoon. All the clippings, all the bits and pieces.

"It's a lot of information." Stan raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to write it all out tonight."

"I have plans to meet an old friend. You're welcome to come along." Clancy had known Pam for almost as long as I had. We'd all gone to high school together. I was hoping he'd be able to help me think of some things I had maybe missed.

He shook his head. "Nah. I owe Isabel a lengthy phone call, and I'd like to see if I can put the pieces together. Have fun though. By the way, she really likes Sookie."

I smiled to myself. "She's pretty likeable."

Clancy ran a pub in the French Quarter, and I met him around four, before the dinner rush. He looked up from the till he was counting when I walked in. "Eric Northman. I never thought I'd see the day."

I slid into his booth. "What?"

"That you came back here. You left in quite a hurry with that hot little blond number."

I'd brought Sookie in for brunch once, and he'd fawned all over her in his normal flirtatious way. "Yea, things are going well up north. We're running a restaurant."

"Still building things too?"

I nodded. "Yea, I'm doing quite well with that, too. Things are going well, for the most part."

He smiled, his teeth as stained as always from smoking from the time he was eleven. "No pitter patter of little feet yet?"

I shook my head. "No man. Too much going on to give that much thought." Children were something neither of us were too sure about. I figured it would be something that would come up more seriously eventually, but it hadn't yet. "So, I'm here because of Pam."

Clancy sighed. "Yea, she was the kind of girl that never let you go, you know? The kind that gets her claws in to your soul."

He had no idea how right he was. "Anyway, I'd like to figure out what happened with her. Get her some justice. Any ideas?"

He looked up thoughtfully. "You know, I think about Pam, from time to time. She really loved you man, in her own way."

I knew that, I did. "Yea." I leaned across the table. "She's been haunting me. Us, actually, Sookie and me."

Clancy's eyes went wide. "No shit."

I nodded. "Yea. Like fucking chain rattling, haunt your dreams, break stuff shit."

"That does sound like Pam," he chuckled.

I got back to the hotel a while later, a bit down, but I was trying to stay optimistic. That kind of faded quickly, when I found Stan on his bed, surrounded by all the pieces of this impossible puzzle. He looked up at me, frustrated.

"You know, I have no idea, Eric. There's a lot of information here, but it doesn't all fit. There are missing pieces. I think whoever did this really covered their tracks."

He'd met with De Castro last week, and he'd been unwilling to talk about Pam's death, stating simply that it was an open police investigation.

"I know, man. I know." I leaned against the wall. "I don't know what we do."

"Isabel would like me to come home, for a few weeks at least," Stan said, quietly. "I booked a ticket for tomorrow."

I nodded. I wished in a way that Sookie had made that call as well, but I understood why she hadn't. "I understand."

Three hours later, I found myself at The Abbey, sitting at the bar, a scotch and a tonic water in front of me.

The scotch won.

Half a bottle later, I'd slid into a booth, content to be alone with the drinks that I'd told the bartender to keep coming. How the fuck had I ended up here again?

I didn't deserve Sookie. I hadn't deserved either of them. All I ever did was let people down, fail them. I glanced down at my wedding ring, covering the earlier one. The universe kept giving me chances to make things right, and here I was, forsaking the one good thing in my life for other opportunity I'd already destroyed.

I really couldn't win.

As I walked through the narrow streets of New Orleans, looking for another bar to haunt, I felt her with me. Pam. "Go away, will you," I mumbled, to no one.

"Eric, what are you doing?" She walked along quickly, to keep up with my stride.

I glanced over at her, in a tiny black dress and a pair of red heels that I vaguely remembered fucking her in. "The only thing I'm good at, Pam. I thought you of all people would understand that."

She stopped in front of me and crossed her arms, staring way up at me. "You know, this fucking pity party you seem to insist on throwing yourself isn't really helping anyone here, least of all, you."

"Fuck off, Pam." I kept walking, and she continued along beside me.

"No. I won't let you ruin your life. You're a part of something good now." She grabbed my arm, and I could faintly feel her nails on my skin. "Go home and call your wife."

"She doesn't deserve to be dragged down by me any longer."

Pam sighed, exasperated, still pulling at me, like the albatross that she'd turned into. "You don't know what she needs then."

And then she was gone. I stopped and turned around, to see her standing in front of the door to a member's only club. "What are you doing?"

Without a word, she pointed to the door. As I approached, I saw the Pam I'd identified that terrible morning, with the huge crack in her head, and the black eye. "You want me to go in there?"

She nodded, tears streaming from her eyes. I'd never seen ghost Pam cry before. "Why? I can't go in there. I'm not a member."

She just stood there, crying and pointing.

After an odd stand-off of sorts, I finally stumbled in, and after dropping a hundred at the door, I found myself in a lovely old bar, with another glass of scotch in my hand. "What now?" I mumbled to myself.

I walked around, looking for something, anything, to jump out of the fog I found myself in.

I found what I was looking for minutes later, sitting at a craps table with a huge wad of bills in hand, a look on his face that I recognized from my own.

Bill Compton.

I watched him for a few minutes. Betting, and winning a couple of hands, with a frantic look on his face. And then he lost, like, really lost. Like betting the farm lost.

It was then that I snatched him out of his chair and slammed him up against the wall. "You know."

His eyes went wide when he saw it was me. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

I shot security a look when they approached us, and set him down, keeping him in arms reach. "Why don't you tell me what you were doing in Maine this spring?"

He brushed off his shoulders. "Sookie's a good person. I hope you didn't fuck her over like I did."

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "She's at home in Maine. That wasn't about her though, was it?"

"You're drunk."

"I absolutely am, and so are you." I slurred, "and you're going to tell me why the fuck you were in Bar Harbour."

Twenty minutes later, I had a cup of coffee in front of me and Bill Compton sat across from me. "Sookie never would have cheated on me, and not with a slimeball like Felipe."

I looked down at my glass, wishing it was scotch, or maybe water. Coffee would do though. "You left her in a fucking psych hospital, you piece of shit."

"That, Eric, was the kindest thing I could have done for her. I was tired of hurting." He narrowed his eyes at me. "Do you know what it feels like, to hurt her like that? Without even trying or saying a word? To drive her to that?"

"Yes," I sipped at my coffee. "I do, unfortunately."

"Well, then I should be the one kicking your ass." He put another packet of sugar in his cup. That was packet number three. "We were there to make sure you weren't running your fucking mouth. If I'd only known then what I know now, though; I would have told you to have fucking at it."

I shook my head at him, realizing that I probably looked as sloppy as he did. "What are you talking about, you fucking idiot?"

"De Castro and a certain skeleton in his closet." He picked at the pie he'd ordered. "One that you were supposed to go down over years ago. You really fucked it up, getting off the hook for your slut wife's death. You were supposed to be rotting in some prison somewhere."

After I kicked him under the table, hard, for his slut comment, I had a moment of clarity. "Your wife knows."

He winced from my kick. "My wife knows a lot of things. She knows how to get ahead by any means necessary, without giving a shit about who she hurts. Why the hell do you think she married me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Eric, my wife was Pam's lover's alibi that night, even though she was nowhere near his house, which didn't much matter, because neither was he. Fucking whore. I fucking loved her, man, and this is how she repays me, fucking that slimy bastard in our bed."

"She covered for him, with Pam's death?"

"She was supposed to love me. I stopped gambling for her, and I was going to take over Dad's business. We were going to be rich, and she was going to have everything she wanted. In our fucking bed. What did she think that would do to me?"

"I'm sorry, man. That sucks." In his fucking bed. "I want to bring De Castro down. Make him pay for what he did to Pam."

"I want him fucking dead. She should have just married him and left me out of it," he slurred. "But that rich fat wife of his has her appeal, I guess. Her, and that pretty little redheaded stepchild of his. Perfect fucking family."

"What?"

"I dunno." He picked at his pie. "Something Portia used to call her." His voice cracked. "I loved her, man, I still do. Things were so good in the beginning."

"I don't give a shit about your marriage, man. I'm sorry," I slurred. "But I'll help you get him. De Castro. I want him too. I want him in fucking prison being someone's bitch. That's what I want."

"He's just fucking her now to get her brother on his side again. Fucking cops. I don't know how she's so blind."

"Love is fucking blind man. So fucking blind." I finished my coffee. "Let's go get a fucking drink."


	16. Chapter 16

**And because hit counter is broken, I have no idea how many of you are reading this, I hope you're liking it! Maybe you all decided you hated it, and bailed. I'd have no idea. Man, I'm insecure. Stupid FF. Anyway, if you're still reading, thanks for that!  
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**Anyway, this story will be 20 chapters, so we're getting to the end. Thanks so much for reading. I'm really enjoying your guesses. Some of you have been on the right track, but I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. **

**Thanks Missus T, Ethehunter, and TVgirlsvm!**

* * *

**Eric**

I woke up the next morning with my face nestled in a mop of dark brown hair. I shook my head, the headache from last night, and the realization that I was in bed with someone that wasn't Sookie or ghost Pam, sunk in. I backed away slowly. There was no way I would have brought someone up to my hotel room. I wasn't the cheating type, no matter how smashed I was.

And then bits and pieces started coming back. The booze, the members only club, Bill Compton. It was Bill Compton in my bed.

And that was possibly the most terrifying realization of all.

I grunted, pulling the blanket around me, realizing that at some point in the night, we'd both lost our pants, and he was left there in a tiny pair of boxer briefs.

"Man, get the fuck out of my bed," I choked out, my voice raspy from last night when I'd totally fucked it up.

He grunted, rolling onto his back. "What? Where am I?"

"You're in my hotel room. Where the hell are your pants?"

He sat up, his hair askew, and looked at me wide eyed. "You're Sookie's husband."

"And you're the asshole that left her in the hospital. We've been over this." I snatched a piece of paper from beside the bed with a series of notes that I'd apparently written last night. They were messy, but legible. Oddly enough, I felt clearer than I had in months. "And your wife knows who killed Pam."

I snatched up my phone and saw that I had seven missed calls, three from Stan and four from Sookie. There was also a text from Sookie, stating bluntly that her flight got in at noon, and that I was to be at the hotel at 2 p.m. and be sober, or else. Shit.

Bill shook his head. "Look man, I don't know what happened last night."

I pulled my jeans on. "You sang like a canary, and now you're going to help me take De Castro down for killing my former wife."

He fumbled for his dress pants, his tie still around his neck from last night. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"No use denying it." I thought hard about last night, getting a flash of Pam standing in front of that club with her head bashed in, which almost made me throw up on the spot, which I kind of wanted to do anyway. "I know that Portia covered for De Castro. She gave him an alibi."

"You don't know that."

I glanced at the paper. "I do know that. I also know that she's fucking around on you and that you lost sixty grand last night." I looked down at him. "And that you're going to help me, or I'll ruin your life like you've all tried to ruin mine."

What little colour was in Bill's face drained out, as we both picked up our heads to a loud rap on the door.

"Eric?" Stan. Shit. Not only did I smell like the bottom of a distillery barrel, I also had a rumpled man in my room.

"Yea, just a minute."

I looked around the room. There was nothing I could do in a minute to make it look like less of a mess. Fuck it. I opened the door.

Stan took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "What the fuck?"

I looked down at the ground, suitably embarrassed. "I'll find a meeting this afternoon. I know you have to leave."

He nodded, and then noticed Bill, who had pulled a bottle of water out of somewhere and was furiously chugging. "Who's he?"

"He's the key to all of this." I motioned for him to come in, and closed the door, handing Stan my notes. "Read this."

Stan read through, wide eyed. "Thank God you wrote this down. I was never this coherent when I was drinking as much as I'd guess you did last night. You kept me up for hours with your yelling and banging. Nice shiner, by the way."

I patted around my eye. Yep, it hurt. I vaguely remembered wrestling with Bill on Bourbon St. I was actually surprised I hadn't hurt him more. He was limping a bit, so I'd done some damage. "So this is enough to go on?"

"I think this kind of pins it on De Castro, which I wanted to do from the beginning." He looked up at Bill. "Thanks, man. You just made this easy for us. Where's your wife?"

Bill's lip got tight. "I'm not telling you that."

"But you didn't mind telling Eric here... " He held the paper up. "That your wife was blowing-"

Bill put his hand up. "Enough." He sighed. "Good luck proving any of that."

"We can prove it with this. The alibi was really the missing piece. It was obvious that he knew more than he was letting on." Stan grinned broadly. "Looks like I'm changing my flight."

Flight. Sookie. 2 p.m. "Did Sookie call you?"

Stan winced. "Yes, because you called her. You and him, I suppose. She was very confused, and pissed, and worried about you, so she took the first flight she could get. We had a long chat this morning."

Shit. "Oh." I didn't remember calling her at all. Great.

"I guess I should go." Bill stood up, still in his tiny underwear.

Stan and I both looked at each other, and then we spoke at the same time. "Sit."

"You're not going anywhere. Not until we have something on tape from you." Stan blocked the door, closing the dead bolt. "You're going to put one of my kids through college."

"Are you extorting money from me now?" Bill got a bit panicky.

Stan laughed. "No, no. I'm a writer. I'm writing this. I have a book deal. That money will put Carly through school. This is all on the up and up. But spill, Compton."

He realized that we had him, and he started getting angry. "I want De Castro to pay. They've both made me look like a fool."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that he'd kind of made himself look like a fool too, with the gambling, the slutty wife and the stupid haircut. Manbangs.

Stan nodded, a condescending smirk on his face. "Baby, we want that too. Now put some pants on, and we'll talk about this."

An hour later, after we'd all had a fairly heavy room service lunch, there was another loud rap on the door.

"Eric Northman, you open this door right now." Her voice was both soothing and terrifying, somehow.

Bill leaned over and whispered in my ear. "That's not Sookie, is it?"

I exhaled. "It absolutely is."

His eyes went wide. "She used to be so quiet."

I raised an eyebrow. "Not my Sookie."

**The Night Before...**

**Sookie**

"Sook, I think you're a Carrie." Lafayette passed the popcorn. We'd watched like eight episodes of Sex and the City, and when nine came on, we decided he'd just crash on the couch, because we had to find out what would happen with Carrie and Aiden.

As if we didn't already know.

I furrowed my brow. "Not a Charlotte?"

He shook his head. "Naw, you ain't that prissy. And I've seen your shoes. You're a secret shoe whore."

I gasped, finishing the glass of red wine that he kept refilling. "I am not."

"Oh, I think you is." He chuckled. "And you've got pairs that you'd never rock with your cute little teacher outfits. Those red pumps, for example."

I knew just the pumps he meant. "I could totally wear those to work."

"Or, you could wear them in the bedroom and give yourself a whole six inch advantage with that tall drink of water husband of yours. Think of what you could with those extra six inches." He snorted. "Although I doubt Eric Northman is lacking inches anywhere."

I shot him a look. "That's enough. Too bad you're not his type."

Speaking of Eric, it was odd that he hadn't called. It had to be after midnight in Louisiana, which meant it was even later late here.

"Doesn't mean I can't live vicariously through you, wifey." He winked.

Sometime after 2 a.m., after I'd fallen asleep on Lafayette, the phone started ringing. "That's Eric. Why so late?" I grumbled, reaching for the phone on the side table. "Hello?"

"Put it on speaker, Sook. I want to make sure he remembers me," Laf whispered.

I did. "Eric, is everything okay?"

And then I heard the slur. "No, it's not okay. Sookie, I'm no good for you. You can keep the restaurant, and I'll sleep in my shop. You deserve someone better."

I shook my head at Lafayette. "Why are you drinking, Eric?"

"Well, Lover, I was drinking because I've been here for weeks and I'm no closer to figuring anything out, and because Stan has to go back to his life, and I miss my life, our life, the one we used to have but can't have any more because I'm not closer to figuring out how to make my old wife get the fuck out of my new life."

That pretty much summed it up. "Oh."

"But now I'm drinking because me and my new best friend, Bill, you know Bill, fucking, useless asshole Bill, we figured some stuff out, and I'm celebrating. But seriously, Lover, you should leave me. I'm useless, and a drunk, and you're so sweet and pretty, and you smell so nice. You should smell nice for someone that deserves you."

"Fuck off, Eric. What do you mean, Bill? Bill Compton?" I knew that slimy bastard knew more than he was letting on. It was too coincidental, him appearing when he did.

"You sound like a Georgia peach. If a Georgia peach sounded like something. He's here. Well, he's eating a pizza, and drinking a Colt 45. I won't even drink that shit, and I have a problem. And he knows about Pam. Kind of. His wife is a whore." He lowered his voice. "I'm glad you're not a whore, Lover."

"Indeed." I glanced over at Lafayette, who was practically pissing himself, and shook my head, smiling although I knew I shouldn't be. I took it off speaker phone. "This would be funny if Eric wasn't an alcoholic. It really would be."

Laf's eyes went wide. "Oh shit. I had no idea."

I covered the phone with my hand. "He doesn't drink anymore, well, most of the time. Not for years before this whole ghost thing."

"Well that'd do it." Lafayette shrugged, and I took the phone in our room.

"Eric, I need you to go to the bathroom and drink some water."

"Lover, I miss you."

And then I asked the question that I should have been asking him every day since he left. "Do you want me to come down there?"

He was quiet for a minute. "Does it make me weak if I say yes?"

I rolled my eyes, slightly irritated by his stupid macho attitude. "No."

"Then yes. I do."

"Go to bed Eric. Leave yourself a note to call me in the morning. I'll get on the first flight I can."

"I love you," he whispered.

"You too. Now, go to bed."

"Okay."

But he didn't hang up, and five seconds later, an all too familiar voice came on the phone. "Sookie, I wronged you, and for that I am sorry."

Fucking Bill. "Bill, go to bed. I don't know how you got there, and what you have to do with this, but you and I will talk tomorrow."

And he just kept going. It was kind of funny, but after all this time his words meant nothing. Less than nothing, even. "I was wrong Sookie, I should have told you. I love you. I never stopped loving you. I wanted to set you free, free from what I was doing to you."

I rolled my eyes. "You could have called, but anyway. Bill Compton, you hear this. If anything happens to Eric, I will hold you personally responsible. Now, go over and lock the hotel room door. You're his babysitter for the night. Goodbye."

I managed to get on a 9 a.m. flight, and Lafayette was kind enough to drive me to the airport. It was all I could do to convince him to stay in Bar Harbour.

**Eric**

I slowly got up and opened the door. I was met first with a slap and then a bone crushing hug that I returned just as hard. "Eric Northman, you fucking idiot."

Even after a three hour flight, she still smelled amazing. "God, I missed you."

She peeked out from my hug, wriggling until I let her go, before pointing a finger in Compton's direction. "And you. What the fuck, Bill?" She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Hello, Sookie." He looked away, quite ashamed.

"Oh, you're not so tough without your wife around." She marched up to him, and clocked him. "That's for calling me at three in the morning and telling me you still loved me."

He stumbled back, and sat on the bed, holding his cheek. "For that, I am sorry."

"And Eric, you, calling and telling me that I'm too good for you, and that I should divorce you and keep the restaurant? Are you fucking kidding me?" Her eyes flashed. Yep, I didn't remember drunk dialing her. I didn't remember that at all. "You're lucky Lafayette didn't get on that plane with me, or he would have kicked your ass. He was sleeping over when you called."

Shit.

Bill piped up. "Who's Lafayette? And why were you sleeping with him?"

"Don't you fucking worry about who Lafayette is, Bill Compton," Sookie snapped. Her head whipped back around to me. "Eric, you're stuck with me. If you think for one minute I'm going to let you fall back into this slump, you've got another thing coming. For better or for worse, asshole," she spat.

I lowered my head, avoiding eye contact with her. "I'm sorry, for everything."

Her nostrils flared. "Not as sorry as you're going to be once we're alone. Bill, spill."

Stan had sat there the whole time just listening, an amused look on his face. "Sookie, he already spilled some, and I think we've figured it out."

Her eyes lit up. "Tell me everything."

Sookie and Stan let Bill and I tell them everything we'd just told Stan again, but when Bill came to the end of the story, Sookie looked confused. "That's not right."

Bill looked thoughtful. "Portia and Pam were both sleeping with De Castro, and he killed Pam for some reason, and then Portia provided the alibi."

Sookie and I shook our heads. "No. You're wrong." Sookie looked up thoughtfully. "Pam's lover was a woman. We know that much."

Bill shrugged. "That's what Portia told me. Well, not that he killed her, so much, but he'd been two-timing her, with Pam. That's why they broke up before, when we got together. Figures with Portia, it wasn't the killing that bothered her, but the cheating." He rolled his eyes.

"He's lying to her, then." Sookie crossed her arms. "Who the fuck is this De Castro guy? Don Fucking Juan?"

I gasped, remembering something Bill had said in all his ramblings. "Redheaded stepchild."

Bill glanced at me. "What?"

"How old is De Castro's redheaded stepdaughter?"

Bill thought about it. "Early twenties? She just married a junior partner in his firm last year. Portia and I went to the wedding. It was the social event of the year. I heard that her dress cost as much as what I lost last night."

She had to be the girl from the painting. She was the right age. "Stan, can you grab your laptop?"

He nodded, getting up and heading to the door, confused. "Sure."

"Bill, what's her name?"

"Sophie Anne Le Clerq, now that she's married. She'd taken De Castro's name when her mother married him."

A few minutes later, and a Google search revealed a wedding picture of a girl that was a spitting image of the girl from the painting. "This is Pam's lover," I said, absolutely certain for the first time.

"She is beautiful," Sookie said, and I breathed a sigh of relief as she wrapped her hand in mine. "She would have been so young then."

"Seventeen," I said, sighing again. "She knows everything. She was there."

Bill looked at the picture. "How do you know that?"

"Pam told me. Both of us, really. She's the one we've been looking for, more than Portia, even."

Stan shook his head. "I don't understand. Why would he kill Pam if she was sleeping with the stepdaughter?"

I just wanted this to be over. "We know it was him. That's what's important."

Sookie squeezed my hand. "I think it matters, Eric. I think Pam wants us to know why."


	17. Chapter 17

**Ah! So some of you are still reading! That's good to know. I think a lot of us are kind of curious about what's happening with stupid hit counter...it's really nice to know that not everyone jumped ship! Thanks so much for your kind notes! I think a few of your are on your way to figuring things out, but I want to hear what you think is happening! This is the first mystery I've ever written, and I have to say, it's kind of fun!**

**Thanks to Missus T, Ethehunter, and Tvgirlsvm! **

* * *

**Sookie**

Stan and I, and to a lesser extent Bill, spent the rest of the day in Stan's room, putting the pieces together, while Eric went to an AA meeting across town.

We had a lot of information. Now we just needed some confessions and the answer to the big question; why? After setting a dinner date for the day after next, Bill left, which was really good, because I absolutely wanted to punch him in the face again, after just a few hours. I really couldn't remember what I'd seen in him once, after seeing him years later. That was almost reassuring, in a way. I wasn't the same person anymore.

And maybe because of that, I didn't hate him like I had once.

I knew Bill been involved somehow. His appearance in Bar Harbour had just been too timely. Unfortunately, I wasn't going to be getting rid of him any time soon, since we needed his co-operation on this.

It was after eight when we finally got back to Eric's room. I hoped he was tipping housekeeping well, because they'd really fixed up his room from the time we'd left it that afternoon. I had no idea what he and Bill had gotten up to over night, but it had been messy. Neither of us said much, exhausted, as we undressed and brushed our teeth side by side, him in his boxers and me in a t-shirt of his that I'd scooped from his suitcase. I glanced over at him occasionally. He was avoiding eye contact.

I spit and rinsed my brush. "Why'd you do it again, Eric?"

He looked over at me, dejected. "I just felt so hopeless. There was no end in sight to any of this. There was nothing else to do."

If anyone knew what that felt like, it was me. "Come to bed."

He nodded, and we climbed in together, for the first time in a month. "I just, I don't know why you'd want to put up with someone like me after all I've put you through."

I turned on my side and propped my head up on my elbow. "And I don't know how you could say that. Eric, you gave me my life back. I never really knew what it was like to have someone feel the way you do about me, and believe me, I know exactly how you feel about me, and now you start in on all of this? I love you. I love you enough to work through stuff, and try to be better, together. When you say things like you'd be better off without me, and I should just run the restaurant and find someone better, you know who you sound like? A slightly kinder version of Bill." I brushed some hair out of his face. "And I know that's not what you are, not by a long shot." I thought back to the pictures in Stan and Isabel's house. "And you can always come home. That's what home is."

He shook his head, and spoke quietly. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

I wrapped my arms around his waist and lay my head on his chest. "You did something that's incredibly hard for most people. You changed. Grew. That's all you had to do."

"I hate Bill," Eric said, a familiar twinkle in his eye. "He's just such a..."

"Tool? Idiot?"

"Yea, those things. And just kind of pathetic. And I hate his hair."

I giggled. "I hate his hair too. I always did."

"I'm sorry that I made you come all the way down here. I know you've got your kids, and this is something I need to figure out."

I ran my hand over his arm, tracing the stars on the inside of it. "You know, I love our life up there, with my kids, the restaurant and all of that, but it's _our_ life. It's not the same if _you're_ not in it. Not even close." I kissed his cheek, before nuzzling my face against his. "I'm here to bring you back, Eric, in every way. That's more important than anything to me."

He looked at me, a sort of calm resolve on his face. "I'd follow you anywhere."

I shook my head. "I don't want that. I'd rather we walk together."

The next morning, we met Stan for brunch in the hotel restaurant. From there, the plan came together quite quickly. In the interests of wrapping all this up, so I could kick Eric's ass into sobriety and then get back to our regularly schedule life, the one where it was just he and I, I volunteered to go to De Castro's law office, in the hopes of speaking to the mysterious Sophie Anne. A bit of internet research revealed that she worked there as well, as a notary, and that was where she'd met her husband, Andre.

After a bit of brainstorming, we'd decided that I'd go in looking for legal representation for something small that needed a notary, and we hoped that I'd get handed off to her. I'd be upfront about who I was, in that I'd tell her my name and Eric's, and then read her reaction. I'd decided to see about having a will drawn up. Although since we were married with no prenup, everything would go to Eric anyway if something were to happen to me, and vice versa. Still, it was the only thing that Stan and I could come up with on short notice.

Since I'd flown in sweats and thrown a couple of pairs of jeans and some t-shirts in my bag, I needed a new outfit. After dropping two hundred bucks on a pair of jeans I'd been eying for months, a cashmere sweater in this amazing shade of blue and a pair of suede heels that I instantly fell in love with, we made our to a very posh law office about a twenty minute drive from the hotel.

"Sookie, you really should have gotten a v-neck. You might have been able to flirt some information out of her, since we know she's flexible." Stan smirked at me. "In the book, you'll be in a v-neck."

"Stop ogling my wife, Davis." Eric shot him a look. "Sookie, do whatever you want to do."

I smiled at the two of them. "So I should flirt with her?"

Eric thought about it. "If you think it's appropriate, and useful."

I nodded, and moved for the door handle of the rental car. "Okay. So you want me to feel her out, not feel her up."

They both looked at me for a minute before cracking up.

I managed to catch Sophie Anne just heading out on her lunch break. As in her picture, she was lovely, with this ethereal alabaster skin and the body of a pin-up girl, with the outfit to match. Pam had excellent taste, but I wasn't surprised at that. She listened to me talk to the receptionist and then interjected, with a forced smile on her face.

"Can you come back? I can help you with that after lunch. I just haven't had anything today but a cup of coffee."

She had to bite. She just had to. I didn't want to wait. Not one hour, not one day. I sighed, cursing in my head. "I'm on my way out of town for the weekend, but I really wanted to take care of this before I go. I really don't want to wait until next week. I guess I could go to another firm…"

She bit. "Okay, okay. Give me twenty minutes?"

I then had a thought, and adjusted my sweater, in a weak attempt to highlight my assets. Stan was right about the v-neck. I tried my best to sound casual. "If you can help me today, I'll buy you lunch. I need to grab a bite, too."

I felt bad, trying to play on her sexuality, or former sexuality, or whatever, but hey, I figured I would have done it she'd been a man. No harm, no foul.

I was desperate too. I hoped I didn't reek of it.

Her red mouth curled up into a smile. "Sure. I know just the place." She glanced up at the receptionist. "Jennifer, prepare a generic will." She held out her hand. "Sophie Anne."

I took it. "Excellent. I'm Sookie."

I shot Eric and Stan a wink as we walked by, the two of them gawking at me like a couple of prepubescent boys in the rental car. I'd send Eric a text in a few minutes, but after the shit he'd pulled on me, this was kind of fun, leaving them in the dark.

After a short walk, and some idle chit chat about the weather, we slid into a booth at this tiny coffee shop. I grinned at the waiter, as he delivered two delicious looking sandwiches on rye. I thought we'd just get them to go, but she'd placed the order to stay. I picked up that she liked me, or rather she thought I was lust-worthy, but was quite conflicted about it.

I guess she was married to a man. Conflicted didn't even cover it.

I raised an eyebrow, as Sophie Anne cut off her crusts. I hadn't seen anyone do that in decades. "So, you need a will drawn up?"

I smiled. "Yep, my husband is in Maine and I need to have it notarized before I can send it up for him to sign. We spend a lot of time apart, on account of my work."

She wrapped her crusts up in a napkin, and set them on the bench beside her. How weird. "What do you do?"

Shit. What did I do? "I'm a designer. Interior. Interior designer. He makes furniture. It's how we met." So it wasn't all a lie. Why had I lied? I could have just said I was a teacher and that Eric travelled for work.

She smiled, nodding. "That's interesting work. More interesting than what I do."

And then I got an odd flash. I never flashed; I just felt people's vibes. This was a flash. Maybe it was from Pam. Maybe something was different with Sophie Anne. I had no idea.

But there Sophie Anne was, in elaborate lingerie, bent over a table getting her alabaster ass paddled, with a literal paddle.

I nearly choked on my ice tea and fought to regain my composure. "It has its moments. I love fabric."

She fingered the lace collar of her blouse. "Me too."

I changed the subject. "That's a lovely ring." And by lovely, I meant huge.

She twisted it on her finger, screwing her face up slightly, showing its first signs of genuine emotion. "I'm pretty sure my mother picked it out. She adores my husband. Yours is nice too."

I had no idea what was going on here. Her emotions were all over the place, although her face remained quite composed. She was odd. Different from anyone I'd ever been around.

"Eric had it made. He has a friend that works with metals." That was true. I loved my ring. "It's our two year anniversary coming soon."

"Huh, ours is in a few months as well." She shrugged. "So what am I putting together for you?"

I smiled. "Just a legal will. We don't have a prenup or anything, so we've kind of been putting it off."

She nodded. "That won't take long at all."

Something was off about her. The lust she was emitting was the equivalent to what I got from Eric when I was blowing him. It wasn't what people felt when eating watercress. Who the hell ate watercress? "That's good. I'm not leaving until later tonight, but it'll be nice to get it done."

I couldn't think of a next move. I picked at my sandwich, and then looked up at her, almost taken aback by the expression in her eyes. It was fear like I'd never seen. It didn't match her words. Nothing matched with her. "I like your sweater. It looks really soft."

I put my arm across the table. "Cashmere. My husband likes me in blue."

She brushed it softly, lingering slightly. "It's really soft."

I smiled, trying to think of how to flirt. I hadn't flirted, well, probably ever. Not really anyway. I licked my lips. "Yea."

She looked around the mostly empty cafe warily. "I'd like to see you, again. I don't have many friends."

Were we friends? We'd only known each other for a half hour. "Okay?"

"I like you," she whispered, pulling her card out of her purse and scrawling a number on it. "This is my cell." She looked around again. "I didn't give this to you."

"What?"

She leaned across the table. "When we go back to the office. Just business."

I narrowed my eyes at her, completely baffled as to what was happening. "Why?"

"They don't like me having friends," she whispered.

"Okay?"

She pleaded with me, with her eyes. "Please call me."

I smiled, reaching over and brushing her hand with mine. "I will."

It was sad, but I knew what it meant to have no one you could trust. To feel so alone. Her emotions weren't unfamiliar to me. "We should go. My husband will wonder where I am."

I nodded. "Okay."

We walked back to her office without a word, and I waited in a meeting room while she gathered what she needed. "So just fill in the blanks, and then you're good to go. No complicating bits?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Everything to him, and vice versa."

Who the hell was I kidding? Our whole life was a complicating bit. I signed, dated, and handed it over.

In seconds, what little colour was left in her face had drained. "Northman?"

Bingo.

"Yes. It's some bastardized version of his Swedish family name. You know… Ellis Island and all that." I had no idea what I was talking about. I made a mental note to ask Eric about his family name at some point.

"I used to know a Northman. She was an artist at this studio that I used to model at."

Fucking bingo. "Pam. Eric's former wife." Now, in the realm of all things coincidental, this was a pretty close match. Pam had been murdered in the back yard of a house owned by someone that was related to someone she knew. And she'd just admitted it. "I never met her. She was a really great artist though."

A glazed look came over her eyes, and her grief was palpable. "Yes, she was." I waited for her to say more, but that was it. "I'll just sign this, and then you can be on your way."

"Okay." I smiled warmly. "It was nice to meet you. Say, did you ever meet Eric?"

She shook her head. "No."

"He'd probably like to meet you," I whispered. "He misses her, very much."

She furrowed her brow. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"He knew about Pam. It's okay, if that's what you're worried about. That was all a long time ago." I fished her card out of my purse, to remind her that I had her number. "Meet us for dinner next week?"

She looked down. "I can't."

"Yes, you can," I whispered. "Please."

She nodded. "I'll try. Somewhere private though."

I nodded back. "Of course. I'll look forward to seeing you again." I rose to my feet and gathered up my paperwork. "Thanks, for this."

I was halfway out the door when I felt a soft hand on my arm. "Sookie?"

I whipped around. "Yes?"

"You're very beautiful," she whispered.

I smiled, more confused than ever, at her inner conflict. "Thank you."

**Eric**

Sookie was gone well over an hour, and during that hour, Stan gave me his required sponsor lecture.

It consisted of a little shrug. "You make your own choices."

"I know. And the night before last was a terrible one. I realize that."

He nodded. "Being aware that there's a problem is half the battle. I'm not good at the preachy stuff. That woman in there though, she loves you, and that's important. More important than anything you'd ever find at the bottom of a bottle."

Truer words had never been spoken.

Sookie practically dove into the car, her eyes wide. "She's going to have dinner with us. Next week. She knows who I am, and she still agreed."

That was unexpected. "Really?"

She nodded. "She wants to meet you. You aren't allowed to be mad about the Pam lesbian thing. I told her you weren't anymore."

"Did she tell you anything?"

She scrunched up her face. "It was more what she didn't tell me. She thinks I'm beautiful, and she got really sad when I talked about Pam, even though she stayed very composed. There's something very off about her."

"I guess we'll figure that out when we see her for dinner."

Sookie went on to tell Stan and me about how Sophie Anne had said she wasn't allowed to have friends, and all the other odd things she'd done. This Sophie Anne chick sounded like first class crazy. I guess that was right up Pam's alley.

We'd left Stan for the night and gone back to our room, and I watched, as Sookie stripped out of her jeans and left her sweater on. "She wanted to touch it. The sweater."

I walked up to her, running my hands up her arms. "It is soft. I like you in blue."

Sookie raised an eyebrow "She wanted to fuck me, or maybe just be near me, but she was very conflicted about it. It was bizarre."

"That must have been odd for you." I reached back, pulling her hair out of its ponytail.

She put her feet on mine, and I pulled her close. "I've been celibate for a month. You're lucky I didn't take her up on her subtle hints. Lust is lust." She winked.

I picked her up, wrapping her legs around my waist. "I don't think she's your type."

She leaned over, and whispered in my ear. "Oh? What's my type?"

I growled. "I am." I set her down on the bed, covering her body with mine.

She ran her fingers over my lips, her eyes twinkling. "Maybe I forgot. The only one of your type I've been spending time with lately wears glitter eyeliner and really, really likes Sex and the City. He thinks he's a Samantha. I might need a reminder. A refresher, if you will."

I groaned, watching as she went for my belt. "Tell me what you want, Lover."

She smiled, her mouth parted slightly. "I want you to fuck me like the last six months never happened. Like we're in our room in Maine, in the bed you made us, and the only daily reminder you have of Pam is that tattoo on your finger."

I smiled, and in that very second I made a decision.

As soon as we were done with this, the tattoo was history.


	18. Chapter 18

**Alright, we're coming up to the end here! Two chapters to go! I hope you've all enjoyed the ride, and thanks for your kind comments and support!**

**Thanks to Missus T, Ethehunter, and Tvgirlsvm!**

* * *

**Eric**

I watched Sookie sleep for a while that morning, her eyes fluttering under the lids, her lips parted, her hair perfectly rumpled from our evening.

God, she was beautiful. And funny, and kind, and perfect for me.

She made me want to be perfect for her. And she'd come so far in the past year. I knew neither of us were perfect, really. No one was, but there was something so amazing about being with someone that you just fit with. In a lot of ways, we couldn't have been any more different; Sookie with her quite straight laced upbringing, her gran being a real anchor, and me, well, I was a bit of a trainwreck even from the beginning.

When I thought back on it, signing up as a moderator on that board was very out of character for me. I was introverted in my own way, not really big on involving myself in the lives of others. For some reason, though my grief had motivated me to reach out in a way I never really had before, to step outside my comfort zone, which, for the better part of ten years, had been a somewhat blurry state of disarray. It wasn't until I met Sookie, that I started looking past the challenge of staying sober and into living a sharp, clear life.

And despite any problems we'd been having or any challenges we'd faced, even if she'd somehow decided that she'd had enough of me, enough of my bullshit, I knew deep down, I'd always equate that clarity with her. Before her, I'd never know that I was capable of being someone that appreciated things like quietly watching a movie, going for a walk or chatting about current events. I never would have known what it felt like to get that soaring feeling in my heart when she walked into a room after not seeing her for a day or how smooth her skin felt under my fingertips. When I was with her, for the first time in my life, I really paid attention. I wanted her to be happy, to be able to anticipate her feelings and act accordingly.

Despite my slips, I could never have gone back to my past life. I'd seen the light.

I leaned in and brushed my lips against her forehead, which got me a small smile.

"You're up," I whispered.

She rolled onto her back. "Hi there."

"Hi."

She stretched slightly, before sitting up against the headboard, the sheet pulled around her. "You're back."

"What?"

She tapped my forehead. "You feel like you again. You haven't for a while. You've still been in there, but you've been muddled."

"I know exactly what you mean." I grinned, leaning over to kiss her neck. "I'm so glad you're here."

She nodded, tilting her head to give me better access. "And I'm glad that we have some sort of a handle on this, so maybe someday we can go home."

I kissed her ear. "I'll warn you, I want to retile the bathroom when we go home."

"Oh, good," she giggled. "Maybe I'll work late that day."

"Or maybe I'll make you help me, and then we can pick grout off each other like little monkeys afterward." I pulled her to me, and whispered in her ear, "I love you."

She wiggled weakly, before giving into my bear hug. "I love you, too. No more drunk dialing though. Can we agree to that?"

I nodded, burying my face in her neck. "No more drunk anything. I mean it Sookie. I mean, I meant it before, but I'm done."

She ran her fingers through my hair. "One day at a time, and once we put this to rest, our days will be much easier."

She was right. I'd never had any problem staying sober when it was just her and I, safe in our little world. I mean, we'd face challenges, sure, but I couldn't imagine anything as extreme as this.

We spent a quiet day together and had brunch at Café Du Monde, where we'd first met in person. I watched her face as she sipped her coffee, casually glancing at people that walked by us, and smiling as she played footsies with me. It was a day like many of our first ones together, when everything was new and the most important thing was listening to every word one another said.

Dinner with Bill and Stan later was not nearly so enjoyable. Her ex, and my sponsor. Not the stuff of romance.

Bill slapped a huge file on the table. "This is everything I could pull from Portia's office on De Castro."

Sookie, Stan, and I glanced at each other, surprised. "Wow, Bill," Sookie said, her face slightly confused. "That's a lot of information."

He nodded. "Most of it's useless, but..." he pulled out a few sheets. "Here's a list of all of his charitable donations from the past eight years. If you look here," he pointed to a series of donations, "he started donating to a church almost immediately following Pam's death, and not just collection plate donations. Some of these are well over ten grand."

I shrugged. "Guilt, maybe?"

Bill shrugged. "Maybe. His wife had been going to that church for years. They'd always made smaller, annual donations. This doesn't fit the pattern though."

"We're having dinner with Sophie Anne sometime next week."

Bill nodded, kind of disinterested. "I left Portia," he looked up, thoughtfully. "I'm no patsy."

Sookie nodded, a bit of a smirk on her face as she squeezed my leg under the table. "Good for you. I hope you at least told her in person."

Bill sighed. "I did, Sookie. And as expected, she said that she would be better off without me."

I felt for the guy, a little. He was really terrible with women. "Well, let's put De Castro away, and we'll see how much better off she is for providing a false alibi."

Bill's mouth curled up into a smile. "That's why I am here."

Stan had constructed a flow chart so we could keep track of all the developments and so far; it all kind of made sense, except the most important question of all. Why? Why the hell had someone killed Pam?

We all listened as Stan began. "So, we know that Sophie Anne knew Pam from that art class, which corresponds with the time that Felecia told you they'd started seeing each other. We know that Pam's body was found in the back yard of a furnished rental that De Castro owned. We know that Portia created an alibi for De Castro and his wife..."

Sookie stopped him. "Wait, what?"

Stan flipped through some papers that he had gotten God knows where. "Well, Portia said that she was at home with De Castro and his wife at the time of Pam's death, along with a couple of other lawyers from their firm, including Andre, who had started the week before. Andre, who eventually married Sophie Anne."

Sookie groaned. "So it could have been any of them that actually killed Pam then."

Stan nodded. "We need to think motive here."

I piped up. "So, in that case, Portia had the biggest motive, on the surface, if she thought Pam was fucking De Castro. That, or maybe Andre, if he was in love with Sophie Anne back then."

Sookie shook her head. "For some reason, I don't think it was either of them. I think if Sophie Anne was there, then why would she give a shit about protecting Portia or Andre, if she loved Pam at the time?"

"I think you're in the wrong line of work, Detective Sookie." Stan smiled. "You're right. I totally agree."

"So that leaves us with De Castro, the mother, or one of the other random lawyers, which I guess we can cross off the list, with Sookie's reasoning." I furrowed my brow. "Hmmm. So the mother or the step-father?"

Bill piped up. "The mother is a real stage mom. You should have seen her at the wedding, all primping over the girl, adjusting her veil, scolding her for messing up her makeup by eating. She's a bit of a cow, or that's what Portia always said."

Stan shook his head. "Portia was sleeping with the woman's husband. Of course she wouldn't have liked her. Hardly a reliable source."

Maybe it was much simpler than that. "Maybe Sophie Anne will just tell us. Maybe I can scare it out of her."

Sookie smacked my arm. "You will do no such thing. She's very fragile."

I raised my eyebrows at her. "I'm not going to like her, Sookie. She was fucking my wife behind my back."

"I think there was a little more to it than that. My money is on the step-dad, for a number of reasons." Sookie seemed sure of herself.

"What reasons?"

She counted on her fingers. "First, I wonder if maybe she and Pam had more in common than just their sapphic desires? Secondly, he looks like a rat. Those beady eyes just scream killer. Besides, imagine if Pam found out that he was doing that to her lover? I'm sure she'd be out for blood. He had the most to lose."

"If that was indeed the case." I glanced at Stan and Bill, really unwilling to reveal Pam's secrets to them. Be damned if she was dead. It wasn't everyone's business. They were clearly confused.

Bill piped up. "She danced with him, De Castro, at the wedding. I don't know where her actual dad was."

"That doesn't mean anything either. We're just speculating here," I groaned. "Why is this so hard?"

"Because it's been quite carefully covered up," Stan said, as he picked at his fries. "Bill, you said Portia's brother is a cop, right?"

He nodded. "Andy Bellfleur, Chief of Police."

Stan looked thoughtful. "Are they close?"

"Yep, they're like a year apart in age. Portia's the oldest."

Stan nodded. "Any reason he'd help her with something like this?"

Bill smiled broadly. "Would getting him out of a giant internal corruption case years ago count?"

Stan grinned back. "Absofuckingloutly." He looked at me. "I bet that's where the coke verdict came from."

"And that all points back to De Castro." I thought for a minute. "But why would he tell Portia that he was sleeping with Pam?"

And then Sookie had an idea. "That would go along with my theory. Better to be fucking around with someone like Pam than your step-daughter, right?"

It had to come up, it did. Stan and Bill both did the polite thing and didn't say anything about Pam and her step-father. That wasn't really important to what we were discussing, but I was surprised Bill had the tact to realize that it wasn't something that I wanted to discuss. It was still hard, knowing that I'd revealed Pam's secret. I smiled weakly and squeezed Sookie's hand under the table."You'd think so."

She squeezed back, an apologetic smile on her face. It meant a lot that she got it. "So my money is on De Castro. I also think something weird happened to Sophie Anne afterwards, that or she was always really messed up in the head." She glanced at Bill. "Worse than I ever was, Bill, I know you were thinking it."

Bill looked sheepish. "I am glad you've got your life together, Sookie."

I squeezed her hand again. Yea, this was an evening of awkward conversations. "Pam told Thalia and Felecia how wonderful she was. I saw the emails. I think after a year, you'd know if someone had severe mental issues."

"Maybe she wasn't the only one." Bill raised an eyebrow, and it was only Sookie's hand on my arm which kept him from reaching across the table and choking him. What the hell had she seen in him?

Stan sighed. "On that note, let's retire for the evening, and reconvene after we think all this over."

When we got back to our room, Sookie practically spat, "I hate him." And then she thought what about what she'd said. "Wait, no, I don't care enough to hate him. He's such a tool."

"Well I think we can both agree on that." I shook my head. "I almost hit him a couple of times."

"He's still limping from whatever you did to him the other night," she smiled. "So thanks, for that."

"That was the one good thing I did that night then."

She shook her head. "I don't think that's true. You called me. That was good. And you kept him here, and you wrote everything down. Also good." She sat down on the bed and pulled me down beside her. "You know, I'm as mad as anything at you for slipping up, but I realized something. It's only because you set my expectations so high and I hate that you've let yourself down. You're really hard on yourself, and I bet if you really think about it, that's the reason the other night happened." She furrowed her brow. "No one's perfect, Eric, and I don't expect you to be."

**Sookie**

I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow that night, feeling quite secure in Eric's arms, his rhythmic breathing soothing against my back.

Not surprisingly, that night Pam made an appearance in my dreams.

I groaned, as she walked out of the bathroom. "Come on."

"I've been quite good, I think." She sat on the side of the bed and kicked off her shoes, a beautiful pair of nude pumps, before crawling in with us, nose to nose with me. "I didn't bother you once when Eric was down here without you."

"I don't think you could bother me, without him around." I wove my fingers with his. "He told me you paid him a visit."

She smiled. "A couple, in fact. Your ex is quite predictable."

"Yea, well, you have your moments, too." I shook my head at her. "What's on the docket tonight?"

"Roll over."

I did, and instead of Eric's scratchy face, I found myself looking at a younger Sophie Anne's face. "I have to go home, Pam. They'll start looking for me."

And then my voice was not my own. I was Pam. "Come stay with me. You don't have to go back there."

"And your husband? I'm sure he'd be really happy with you bringing me around."

I brushed some hair out of her face. "He'd deal with it. Sophie, you can't keep going back. It's not healthy."

"I get access to my trust-fund when I'm twenty-one."

"Fuck that. I'd take care of you until then. I don't know where I'd be if someone hadn't taken care of me."

Sophie Anne rolled her eyes at me. "So I could just go home with you. You'd just walk in the door and tell him who I was, and he shrug and everything would be fine? Pam, you're crazy."

"I guess we're both a little crazy then." I pressed my lips to hers. "Eric's a good man, deep down. We'd sort our stuff out and go from there. Maybe we wouldn't be together. Maybe he'd be okay with you and me, and me and him. I don't know. We'd figure it out. It would be better than what you're living with now."

"They're my family," she whispered.

I shook my head. "They're not good for you."

She blinked, somewhat adorably. "And you are?"

"I'm better." I ran my fingers through her wild hair, a contrast from the tight curls I'd seen the other day. "I'd never make you do anything you didn't want to."

"I'm scared. I'm scared of all of it."

"It's scary stuff. What he's doing though, Fif, it's not okay. I can smell him on you." And I could. Some high end cologne and sex. Usually the smell of sex didn't bother me, but it really did right then.

Even though I knew it was a dream. I felt a little sick.

"It would all fall apart, if I left."

"It never should have been built to start with," I snapped. "She should have protected you. That's her job."

In that moment, I'd never hated being right more.

"I don't know that she knows." Sophie Anne swallowed. "Maybe she doesn't know."

I shook my head incredulously. "You were twelve. If she doesn't know, she's a damn fool."

"He says he loves me. That he'll leave her and be with me."

I groaned. "Sophie, you're a smart girl. Does any of this sound right to you?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Leave. Start bringing stuff to our place, and I'll start taking it to my house, and we can tell them together in a week, if you want. I'll talk to Eric, and that will be that."

"What if they don't let me go?"

"Then you go to the police. We go to the police. I don't think it'll come to that, though."

"You'll take care of me?"

I nodded, kissing her again. "Always."

I woke up to hearing the toilet flush and a disoriented Eric, in a pair of briefs crawling back into bed. "You're restless tonight," he whispered.

"I think I'm right about Sophie. I had a dream."

"Anything else good?"

"Pam was going to bring her home to live with you two."

"Because that would have been great for my sobriety." He shook his head. "Can't even go there."

I leaned in and kissed his forehead. "Let's not go there."

I called Sophie Anne early the next morning, and surprisingly, she agreed to meet us for dinner that night, texting me the address of a Sushi place that was certainly a hole in the wall, far away from the downtown core.

"I don't think we should bring Stan," I said, after hanging up.

Eric nodded. "We'll fill him in with the appropriate details later. I honestly don't know what this is going to be like."

"You'll be alright, won't you?"

He smiled at me. "Lover, if meeting her ends all of this I'll let her braid my hair while we have a sleepover. Whatever it takes."

Little did we both know how very weird our evening was about to get.


	19. Chapter 19

**So one more chapter to wrap everything up and put a twisted bow on top! Thanks so much for reading, and sorry for the delay. My dog almost died, and I've been at a sales meeting. I know that sounds like a bogus excuse, but it's my life.  
**

**Ps. I started an Expert/Amateur sequel, which I'll probably start posting over the weekend. So, if you haven't read my baby, or want to reread it in all its typo-filled glory, it's on my blog: seastarr08 dot wordpress dot com. **

**Thanks to Missus T, Ethehunter, and Tvgirlsvm!**

* * *

**Eric**

Sookie and I arrived at Kanno Sushi Bar at about five, a half hour before Sophie Anne had agreed to meet us. We slid into some rickety chairs, and I wasn't entirely certain that I wasn't going to end up on the floor before the end of the night. The walls were decorated with the typical stuff, fans, block prints, all of that.

"This place really is in the middle of nowhere," Sookie whispered, after we were given our tea. "She must be really worried about someone seeing us."

I nodded, sipping on my tea. "Maybe that's why she never met any of Pam's friends."

"That would make sense." She sighed. "I don't know what we do, after we get the information we need. I feel bad for her."

"She's an adult, Lover. I mean, we can be supportive, I suppose, but we can't take her back to Maine with us or anything. I guess I could put her in touch with Thalia and Felecia?"

She smiled. "She's not coming back to Maine. Meeting some of Pam's friends might be really good for her. I don't know. Maybe she won't even want our help. I'm just trying to think past this."

I leaned in across the table and reached for her hand. "So what's our strategy?"

Sookie thought about it. "I think we go gentle and see what she wants to tell us. If she's anything, well, like me when I was having problems, she probably just wants someone to listen and believe her. Do you have the recorder ready on your phone?"

I held it up. "Yep."

"I think you have to record everything, for context. I wish we didn't though." She furrowed her brow. "It's kind of intrusive, but it's the only way."

I was impressed by how pragmatic she was being. "So give me a bit of warning. Is she really odd?"

She rested her head in her hands. "Eric, it's like someone muddled with her internally, her sense of up and down, right and wrong, good and bad. They're all screwed up."

"Is it something only you'd notice, or will I notice too?"

She thought about it. "I think you'll notice. She sounds very forced when she speaks. Like she'd like to be saying something else, but she know she's not supposed to."

"So like she's been poorly brainwashed?"

"Maybe? I've never been around anyone that's been brainwashed." She smiled. "I'm not a mental health professional. I just have a weird sixth sense."

"One that's come quite in handy lately, I might add." I grinned at her, turning her palm over, and tracing little circles on it. "You know, I don't think there's much we won't be able to handle after this."

"A year and a half ago, I was uncomfortable around more than five people. I hate to say this has been good for me, but it's forced me to deal with some things that I don't know if I would have otherwise."

"Me too, I guess." I wasn't sure if I ever would have relapsed, if it hadn't been for this. It had been a real test, and I'd failed it. I'd passed a lot of others though. "I just want to get home."

"Me too." She gave me a smile. "Let's just hope this is it."

Sophie Anne was a half hour late. We ordered edamame and sipped our tea, while we waited.

I was actually glad she was late. It gave us a chance to get comfortable, before the crazy descended.

And descend it did, in a pair of huge sunglasses and a headscarf. She rushed in and didn't look at me, only at Sookie. "Can we sit in one of the booths? With the curtains?"

There were a few, and they were empty. Sookie smiled. "Of course."

A few minutes later, we were settled, Sookie across from me and Sophie beside her. Sophie smiled broadly at Sookie, ignoring me completely. "The eel is good here. I used to come here with Pam sometimes."

"Thank you for meeting with us." I gave her my best attempt at a warm smile. She was beautiful, sure, and quite fragile looking, with her thin arms and pale skin. Her makeup was flawless, and she was very put together, with her black polka dot blouse and her red lips. Like some retro pin-up girl.

She looked down, avoiding eye contact with me once she'd removed the sunglasses. "Pam said you were tall."

I couldn't help but wonder what else Pam had said about me. "Sophie Anne, you have to help us here..."

"Call me Fifi, please," her voice wavered at the end. "Pam always called me that."

Sookie gave me an odd look, and it was then that I noticed that Sophie Anne had grabbed her hand under the table and was holding on for dear life. Sookie turned, so she was facing her. "We just want to give Pam some justice. She didn't deserve what happened to her."

Her tone changed, from the weak little girl voice she'd been using to something far more prim and composed. "That would depend on who you asked."

Sookie narrowed her eyes at her. "We know you were there."

And the little girl returned. "I see her sometimes, lying there, her neck at that weird angle, looking at me."

All of a sudden, Sookie's eyes lit up. "She should have protected you. Your mother."

She pulled Sookie's hand on top of the table as if to show me that she was holding her hand. Her slender fingers stroked her palm affectionately. "Well, we all know where my mother's interests lie, and they aren't with me."

I reached for Sookie's knee under the table and gave her a supportive squeeze. "Why are you protecting them?"

The uppity voice returned. "Because I'm an abomination. What Pam and I did, it wasn't right. Leviticus, Corinthians, it's everywhere. They saved me from hell. It was too late for Pam."

"What are you talking about?"

"I struggle with SSA. Same sex attraction. Pam did too. It was why she was never content with you."

I didn't have the heart to tell her that Pam wasn't content with me because I was a non-functioning alcoholic, and that her issues with men went way past that. "Soph...Fifi, why do you think that?"

"Because it's the truth. I overcame it. I married Andre, and we're trying to have a baby. It's what God wants."

Oh, brother. Sookie sighed audibly. This was way beyond our level of knowledge. I'd heard of this crazy church stuff, but never encountered it in real life. Sookie smiled politely. "Well, I know the Bible quite well, and I think killing actually made the Ten Commandments, so it may outweigh same sex attraction. What do you think about that?"

She stopped for a minute. "Oh."

I thought for a brief minute about what would have happened, if Pam had indeed brought her home and I'd been forced to deal with that. For Pam, I probably would have tried, at least. Then I did something quite unexpected, even for me. I reached across the table and put my hand on theirs. "It's okay. You can tell us. I know about Pam. I know everything about what happened to her when she was young."

For the first time, she brought her eyes up to meet mine. "You do?"

I nodded. "I do. I put him in the hospital, and he never talked to her again after that. We'll try and help you, if you need it."

Her eyes darkened, and then they grew sad. "I don't want to have a baby," she whispered.

Sookie gave her a half smile. "You don't have to have a baby, Fifi. We can get you out of this. The truth can end all of this. You can have your own life."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "But not with Pam anymore."

I shook my head. "No, but you can live the life Pam would have wanted for you, where you do what you want. Sophie, you need therapy. Real therapy. Not whatever you've been getting."

Sookie smiled down at my hand over theirs. "You have your trust fund now, don't you?"

She nodded. "Andre controls it."

"You can fight that, especially with everything that's happened to you."

"I'm scared," she whispered.

Sookie's eyes met hers. "Pam's scared, too. Eric and I have seen her as well. Please, do this for her, if you ever cared for her. She doesn't deserve to just be discarded like she was."

Sophie Anne nodded. "I loved her, very much."

I said what I needed to say, as hard as it was. "And she loved you too. Who killed her, Fifi?"

Her voice dropped to a faint whisper. "My mother. Arlene."

Sookie and I snuck glances at each other, as Sophie's floodgates opened over her spicy tuna roll. I have to admit, I was slightly surprised. My money had been on De Castro. That meant double the people to bring down, because I certainly wasn't letting him off the hook on anything.

She and Pam had been meeting up at De Castro's empty rental, which was where he'd been taking Sophie Anne for years. From the bit she told us, it was obvious that he had manipulated her into thinking that their relationship was both acceptable and required, which was both disgusting and disturbing.

De Castro was busy the night that Pam died, so Sophie thought it would be safe for them to be there. She hadn't been expecting her mother though, in fact, she assumed her mother had no idea that she ever went there. A fight had broken out, Pam accosting Sophie Anne's mother for knowing all along and doing nothing, Arlene furious that Sophie Anne would air their dirty laundry in public. It wasn't about the years of abuse, the lying or any of that, but because she had told someone. That was the moment that Sophie Anne realized that not only had her mother known where she'd been going, she also knew a lot more than she'd been letting on.

I handed her my napkin, and she dabbed at her eyes. "She thought Pam forced me into it. Into being with her. That wasn't true though. I wanted to be with her. I kept going back to the studio, kept signing up as a model to see her. I wanted her to notice me." She choked, slightly. "It was all my fault."

That wasn't inaccurate, but I wasn't going to say that. I was feeling a lot of things, anger, a bit of rage, sadness, but I choked them all down for later digestion. "What happened after?"

Sophie Anne took a deep breath. "There was a lot of screaming in the yard. Everyone went crazy. Daddy showed up with some woman, and then I went home. When the police came to the house I just stayed upstairs. And then I went to camp."

"Camp?"

She nodded. "Church camp. Well, it's this camp for people like me, who are confused. And they explained that we can fight our urges, and live right for God, and that that's important."

Jesus, this was messed up. One look at Sookie, and it was terribly obvious that she agreed. She patted Sophie Anne's back. "Okay, so Fifi, we have to tell the police this."

"But my mom will go to jail, and Filipe won't be a senator, and, and..." She started breathing really fast. "I can't. I can't do this."

And then Sookie pulled out the tough love card. "You can, and you will do this, or we're going to the police anyway, and then you'll be an accessory." She squeezed her hand. "Fifi, you'll be fine. They're not helping you. They're hurting you. I know he does things you don't like. Still. With the paddle."

I wasn't sure who she was talking about; Andre or Filipe.

"Daddy is the most important. I know the rules." Filipe. Fucking sick bastard. No wonder Pam had pushed us with this. He needed to be in jail, for both her and Sophie Anne. I wasn't sure who was worse, Arlene or Filipe, and it wasn't a contest I was interested in judging.

I wanted both of their heads on pikes.

The more Sophie Anne talked it became more clear why I was Pam's choice for justice. Sophie Anne's head was barely screwed on. I wasn't sure how she went about her daily life. I guessed that was why they kept her close, because if not, she would have spilled her guts ages ago. They had her under control, well, as much as anyone could have an adult woman under control in modern society.

"Fifi, will you come to the police station with us? We can get you a room at our hotel tonight. You don't have to go back."

She started with the heavy breathing again. "I don't know, I don't know. This is all happening really fast."

"This all happened five years ago." And now it was my turn to play tough love. "And we've been recording this conversation." I wasn't sure it would fly in a court at all, in fact, I figured with the lawyers we were facing that it probably wouldn't, but all I needed was for her to think for a second that it would. "We don't want you to get in trouble. Come with us. Do this for you, and do this for Pam." I was half tempted to say we'd get ice cream after, with the soft approach we were taking, but I bit my tongue. She was mentally ill. Disturbed. There was no way Sookie or I were in any sort of situation to be providing her with the help she needed. We needed to give her off to someone else, and in a hurry. I wondered if Felecia would be willing to meet us at the hotel and take her back to their place. Thalia would claw anyone's eyes out that didn't do what she wanted. She'd be safe there, especially once I told them what happened.

Sookie and I looked at each other and then at Sophie Anne. This was really the moment of truth. Sophie Anne looked back and forth between us. "I'll do it. I'll help you."

I exhaled and smiled as a huge weight was lifted off my chest. We had this. "And we'll help you."

The car ride back to the hotel was quite quiet as we all did our own thinking. It was after we got up to the room that Sookie spoke. "We need to take you to a psychiatrist first. Before we go to the police."

I looked back and forth between them. "Why?"

"They'll call her mental state into question. If we get her checked out before she goes in, then they won't be able to do that. We need to do this right, right from the beginning. Someone else needs to take her."

Sophie Anne got a bit fidgety. "What? Who?"

I thought about it. "Felecia or Thalia. They're as uninvolved as we're going to find."

Sophie Anne looked to Sookie, who patted her hand. "Friends of Pam's. They'll take care of you. And we're still here too."

I stepped out and called Felecia, who agreed to take her both to a shrink and for the night. We convinced her to go with them, and found someone in the Yellow Pages that could provide an evaluation, and we patiently sat around, waiting for Felecia's call. "I think this is really it, Lover." I put my arm around Sookie and kissed her forehead.

"We did it." She kissed me back, a huge smile on her face. "This feels like a huge accomplishment. We saved her, Eric. And we're saving Sophie Anne too."

"Can you feel her? Pam?" I had to ask, because despite not having Sookie's gifts, I almost felt like I could.

Sookie shook her head, a smile on her face. "You know, I can't. And I think that's a good thing."

I had to say, after everything, I completely agreed.


	20. Chapter 20

**And we're at the end of this wild, wild ride. I hope you've all enjoyed, and if you're reading the complete story, let me know what you thought! It was my first crack at a mystery, and I have to say, it was kind of fun! Thanks so much for reading, and look for an new Expert story shortly!**

**Thanks Missus T!**

* * *

**Six months later...**

**Sookie**

I cocked my head at Eric, a half smile on my face. "Are you sure you don't want me to come?"

He smiled, kissing my forehead. "I do, but you're staying here. I have to do this, but I just need to know you're here, and safe. Can you just do that, for me? Please?"

I nodded. "Okay. But call me."

He nodded. "I'll call so much you'll be sick of hearing from me. Stan will be down later tonight. He's got some interviews, and we're going to get dinner. I'll be fine. Whatever the outcome. Lafayette is staying with you, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes. Although I think I'd be fine."

He shook his head. "I don't want you to be alone. Besides, he said he already has some movies picked out."

I wrapped my arms tightly around his waist. "I'll go home, but I mean it. I want up to the minute trial updates."

He groaned. "I can't believe I have to sit there and look at them."

Eric had decided to attend sentencing for Arlene Le Clerc's trial and do the last thing he felt like he needed to do for Pam and give a victim impact statement. He didn't want everyone to remember her as she'd been described in the papers, as some coked out nobody. He wanted her death to mean something, to show the world that she'd been trying to help a deeply troubled girl, the victim of years of abuse.

We'd returned to Maine a few days after Sophie Anne went to the police really not seeing much need to stick around. We'd sent things in motion, and from what I heard during my last phone call with Felecia at the airport, we'd opened several cans of worms with Sophie Anne's trip to the police department.

With De Castro being who he was the trial garnished a lot of media attention from day one, and it was quickly apparent that we didn't need to be there to follow along. All the twisted details came out quite quickly, with each one blaming the other for the way things went down that night. The charges against Arlene were second degree murder, since Pam had surprised her by being there that night, evidence tampering, and bribery. Felipe was being charged with evidence tampering, bribery, and sexual assault, dating back to when Sophie Anne was a minor. Portia's brother was dismissed his job with the police department for his role in everything almost immediately, and in order to keep from facing charges himself, he quickly fessed up to everything that he knew, which basically screwed both Arlene and Felipe.

Much to mine and Eric's chagrin, Felipe had gotten a bit of a break, by selling his wife out, opting to save himself over invoking spousal privilege. He still got fifteen years, but managed to weasel his way out of the bribery charge. He'd have to register as a sex offender, if he made it out of jail alive, which was a small victory, for us and Sophie Anne.

Arlene had tried to first make Sophie Anne out to be crazy and when that failed, tried to play crazy herself. Sophie had impressed Eric and me by really pulling herself together. She'd gained power back over her family estate, and a week after going to the police she'd filed for divorce, citing mental cruelty as the cause.

Our story received some attention, mostly because of Stan's upcoming book, but it wasn't something we talked about, not outside of those in the know. The idea of ghosts demanding justice sounded nuts to most people, and even to us at first. Sure, we had our reminders, broken lamps, frames missing glass, but eventually it all sort of just became this part of our life, apart from the insanity and the fear. We'd had a ghost. She'd forced us to do something that needed to be doing. It was all very simple, in hindsight.

It had felt anything but simple at the time.

After dropping Eric off at the airport and setting an 8 p.m. date with Lafayette, I curled up on the couch under the quilt that Octavia had made me a couple of months earlier when I was tired all the time. I was better now, since I'd become accustomed to dealing with the changes that had totally messed with my state of being a few months earlier.

Nowadays, when I felt like something was wrong with my emotional state of being, I tried to trust myself more and search out my own feelings and then those of the people around me, but sometimes it was hard. I found out I was pregnant in possibly the most stressful way possible, when one of my kids nearly took their eye out on a stick on the playground and I had a minor anxiety attack, probably on account of all the blood, and high-stress energy. I'd sat down at my desk, fumbled with the box that Eric had given me looking for my emergency meds stash, and then had a startling thought.

I wasn't alone; I couldn't feel much, but there was some duality in me, somehow. It had maybe been there for a while, but this was the first time that I had really felt like my emotions were conflicting internally. I was upset, really upset, but yet, not. It wasn't like with other people, or like it had been with Pam. It felt organic, somehow. Right.

That, and after a bit of thought I realized that life had been so crazy that I didn't even notice that I hadn't gotten my period the month before, and I'd completely and utterly fucked up my birth control in New Orleans.

I left my Xanax in the box and sat on my feelings for a couple of days, trying to wrap my head around what I was feeling. After I ate I felt content. I felt relaxed when Eric rubbed my feet. Everything was almost the same, except slightly amplified. Finally, I picked up a test after school.

The timing was not opportune, and children were a conversation that we'd opted to put off, neither of us really sure how we felt bringing a child into our dysfunctional lives. Studies showed that alcoholism could be a heredity trait, and lord knows that I had no idea about my condition. Nonetheless, as I sat there, in the bathroom of the house we'd certainly made a home, on the edge of a dark time in our lives, I realized something.

Whatever I was feeling felt right.

I waited a day to tell Eric. I spent the entire day just feeling his mood out, as we did the things we loved to do on a Saturday. We ate lunch in the restaurant, walked on the beach, after carefully bundling up since it was December, and then we cooked dinner together. I teased him when I noticed him making eyes at me. "What is it? Do I have food on my face?"

He smiled, almost shyly. "You just look really beautiful today. That's all."

Was I glowing? Did women really glow? "Thank you."

He brought his hand up to my face, before pushing his mouth to mine. "Everything feels good, you know?"

I nodded. "It really does." It was then I noticed his hand. "What's this?"

He smiled, as I examined his finger. "I was going to wait for you to notice, but it's been a couple of days, and you haven't. I need a few more treatments, but because it's black, they thought it would be pretty easy to remove."

"Oh." I ran my finger along the fading band. "I didn't even know you'd gone."

Eric shrugged. "I didn't want you to think I was going because of you. I'm doing it for me."

"I'm pregnant," I blurted out, before sitting at the kitchen table, my head in my hands. "Shit, I didn't want it to come out like that."

He sat down beside me and sighed. "Oh."

I narrowed my eyes at him slightly. "Oh?"

He looked thoughtful. "We haven't really talked about this."

"I know." I desperately tried to read his feelings, but mine were perhaps so conflicted, since I was worrying about his reaction that I couldn't even begin to figure out his. "I think I missed up my birth control when we were in New Orleans and then so much was going on that I didn't notice I was late until a couple of days ago."

"Are you okay?"

"Well, I'm a little tired, but we did have a busy day."

He shook his head. "With this, I mean. I wish we'd finished that conversation we started a couple of years ago, you know?"

I nodded, trying to hold back the tears forming behind my eyes. "I'm okay with it. Happy, in a way, even."

He exhaled, a look of relief flooding his face. "I thought, maybe, you wouldn't want that, with me."

I slid my hand across the table and took his. "Who else would I want it with?"

Five months later, I was starting to show, with a pretty substantial bump. I'd fallen asleep, when I heard Lafayette's key in the door. "I'm here, baby momma."

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," I mumbled, pulling myself up, and wiping the attractive drool from the side of my mouth.

"Those baby hormones make you do all sorts of crazy things." He unpacked a series of Tupperware containers on the table. We ate downstairs so much that we'd stopped using takeout stuff. "So, I had leftover chicken pot pie, and the stew. I thought you'd want both."

I inhaled. It smelled fantastic, as always. "You thought right."

He nodded, passing me a fork and a spoon. "How's baby daddy?"

I shrugged. "I haven't heard from him yet. He's giving his statement to the jury tomorrow afternoon."

He started to speak, stopped himself, and started again. "You're not worried about him?"

I furrowed my brow. "Maybe. Kind of. I don't know. I trust him, I do."

I worried about him being down there, thinking about everything that had happened, alone. Having to see the people that killed her, to be in the same room as them, look them in the eye when he told them that they killed a part of him, one he'd been so broken up about that it took him years to realize that it was even gone.

Yea, I was worried. But the baby wasn't. He or she was quite content, happily anticipating the food that was coming through osmosis. As I thought about it for a minute more, I realized that baby had the right idea. There was nothing I could do, beyond calling him that was going to make him do or not do something that he'd regret later. I could just be happy, and worry about things when I had to.

I took a bite, and Lafayette shook his head. "You havin' a private conversation with baby?"

I shrugged. "Kind of. He or she isn't worried about Eric. I shouldn't be either. It's not going to do any good. I'm going to call him though, when I'm done eating."

Lafayette nodded. "He's a good man, Sook. We all have our flaws."

That was certainly true. "I know."

"It's when the flaws start outweighing the good that you have a problem." He smiled warmly. "And that man of yours, he's got a lot of good going on." He raised an eyebrow. "Probably more than meets the eye."

I smiled. "Did I show you the crib yet?"

Lafayette nodded. "Well you didn't, but he did. It got Lafayette approval before you laid eyes on it even."

"I love it." And I did. It matched our bed, with the leather and wood, and like all of Eric's pieces, was him through and through. I couldn't wait until we had a baby to put in it. "You know, I'm going to call him."

He was fine. Better than fine. And sober.

When Eric got back three days later, he brought a box of beignets and a painting with him.

He looked at me apprehensively. "Would you mind if we put it up?"

He turned it over, and my eyes went wide when I took it in. It was a stunning landscape scene. "It looks like our beach."

He smiled. "I know, huh? Thalia of all people wanted me to have it. If it's weird, I can send it back to her. She'd understand."

I shook my head. "I feel like I know Pam pretty well. I actually have a great spot for it." I picked it up, and he followed me into the baby's room. "I think we should put it in here."

He nodded. "I'd like that."

As embarrassing as it was, I ate half a box of beignets, curled up on the couch with Eric, as we watched the aftermath of the Le Clerc trial on CNN. "It's really over."

"Yea, the jury wasn't really on her side it seemed, when they heard about how she'd basically pimped Sophie Anne out to her husband. The baby likes the beignets, huh?" He moved a hand to my stomach. "We'll have to see if Lafayette can figure out how to make them."

I smiled to myself at the content feelings from deep inside me. The baby did like them. Or maybe having him or her's dad home."Were you okay, with everything?"

He sighed, biting into a beignet. "It was hard, but I really feel like it's over now, you know? Like I did what I needed to do for her."

He felt content too. It was something I hadn't felt from him so strongly in a long time.

We went to bed early that night, after awkwardly having great sex. Awkward because of the growing bump between us, and great, because, well, sex between us was never really lacking. It was kind of a fun challenge to figure out the best positions, as I got bigger and bigger.

Eric kept his hands on my stomach a lot, usually when he slept. While he wasn't jump and and down excited, like Lafayette and Amelia, I noticed him smiling when I thought he wasn't looking, and his attentiveness spoke volumes. He was excited, but I knew there were times that he felt the odds were against, him, and us really, with his terrible childhood, and the rampant strain of alcoholism that seemed to run through his family, but as I said to him one night, when I sensed his concern, we'd been through a lot together, he and I, and in a short period of time. We'd figure things out. We were good at that.

I could feel the baby move quite a bit now, but Eric hadn't yet. That night though, as we were both drifting off to sleep, he did. I watched his eyes go wide. "Oh, wow," he whispered. "There's really a little person in there."

I nodded. "Our little person."

He nodded, a huge smile on his face. "Our little person."

I didn't sense Pam that night like I had in the past, but I did sit up at some point in the night to see her sitting on the end of our bed. "Oh, no," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "You're not supposed to be here anymore."

She smiled sweetly at me. "He'll be a good dad. He's just a bit unsure, but he'll get over it."

I wasn't much interested in her musings on Eric. "You're supposed to have moved on. We did what we were supposed to."

She nodded. "You did, and I have. Doesn't mean I don't get to check in now and then."

I glared at her. We'd done what we were supposed to. The time for niceties had passed. "I'd prefer if you didn't."

She patted my foot over the blanket."You know, Sookie, I pegged you all wrong, in the beginning. You're tough as nails."

I didn't want to give her any credit for that, but in a strange way she had helped. "I hope you're in a better place."

She smiled. "I am."

And with that she was gone.

Forever.


End file.
